


Lost and Found Weekend

by gwenweybourne



Series: Infinite Tuesdays [4]
Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Angst, Dolenzsmith, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-typical Ableist language, Protective!Micky, Romance, Sexual Content, The tiniest hint of Jolenz, Vietnam War, Vulnerable!Mike, mild violence, show-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-16 11:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: Josiah's surprise reappearance causes immediate problems for Mike and Micky. History threatens to repeat itself over one seemingly endless, bloody Saturday night and a tense Sunday morning. The Monkees need to band together more than ever to weather the storm.





	1. The Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Final (for now?) installment of the Infinite Tuesdays mini-fic series. Except this last one isn't really that mini!
> 
> Things get heavy here. CW: for mild violence, and homophobic slurs typical of the era
> 
> ***  
But if we go into the woods  
If we go into the woods  
My god, I swear I'll keep you dry  
Will you wear my coat?  
Will you wear my coat of butterflies?  
\- Miracle Legion, "Butterflies"
> 
> Sometimes a song hits you just right and I listened to this one over and over while writing this installment.

“Josiah. As I live and breathe!” Mike was in shock. He didn’t know what to do. His brain was having trouble accepting this part of his past stood in front of him in his adopted hometown. Some part of him that was still operating on autopilot leaned forward to offer his hand to shake.

Josiah smiled crookedly, shaking his hand. “Bet you were wondering if I was still living and breathing.”

“Well, yeah, man. Last I heard you’d shipped out, but no news since then. When … did you get back?”

“‘Bout six months ago. But I was laid up in the VA hospital for most of that time. You noticed the cane, I reckon. Everyone does, but they pretend they don’t.”

Mike pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say.

“Took some shrapnel from a mine. Uh … I’m told it was touch and go for a while. And then they didn’t know if I’d be able to keep the leg. They saved the leg, but weren’t sure if I’d be able to walk again. But I showed those VC fuckers. I mean, I won’t be doin’ the Twist anytime soon, but I get around.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mike said slowly. “Real glad. Glad you made it out.” He didn’t ask about Joe’s other friends. He didn’t want to pretend to care. Didn’t want to admit he had been half hoping they’d all meet their maker over there. He could barely admit such an uncharitable thought to himself. “Um, so, what brings you up here, Joe?”

“Josiah.” Josiah shrugged, trying to look casual, but it seemed forced. “Just … on a bit of a road trip. Now that Uncle Sam gave me my walking papers, I figured I’d go out and see a bit of the good ol’ US of A. Chuck told me you’d settled out here and had put a group together. Figured I’d come see it for myself. It was terrific, Mike. Your sound is real groovy.”

“Thanks, Joe … Josiah. Yeah, we’re doin’ all right. Not like the record men are knocking down our door yet, but we’re gettin’ pretty steady work and some fans, so it’s comin’ along.”

“Well, hey, I was hopin’ you’d be able to sit and have a drink with me. Catch up a bit. Unless you’re busy …”

Mike hesitated for a moment. His head was in a whirl. Part of him wanted to hug Joe and the other part of him wanted to sock him in the jaw. Yet another part of him wanted to just run away and hide. But good Texas manners overrode all of his other feelings.

“Naw, I was just gonna head home after this. I can have a drink with you, Jo…siah.”

Josiah beamed at him. “Well, all right, man! Just like old times! I got a table over there. Let’s get that pretty waitress over here and tie one on, yee-haw! The night’s young!”

“Just like old times,” Mike muttered under his breath, then, louder, “Yeah, all right. Um, I just gotta load out my gear so the guys can drive it home. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“All right, buddy! I’ll get the orders in!” Josiah hobbled off.

Mike sighed and before he could finish what he was doing, Micky was standing beside him, looking at Josiah’s retreating back as he made his way to his table.

“Uh … who was that, Mike?” Micky was also trying and failing to sound casual.

“Oh, him?” Mike said, unsure of how to handle this. “Um, just an old friend from back home. He’s passing through town and wanted to have a drink with me, so I’m gonna give you guys my gear and I’ll hang back and catch up with him for a bit, okay?”

“From back home?” Micky asked uneasily. “From _where_ back home, exactly?”

Mike looked at Micky. His Micky. Five minutes ago he’d been so eager to get home and get this boy into his bed, and now everything was feeling weird and uncomfortable. But he couldn’t lie to Micky. Not about this. Not about anything. “… from Dallas,” he said softly.

Micky’s brow furrowed. “Dallas? Mike, are you serious … oh my god, is it him?” He stared back again at Josiah, who was eagerly waving down Sandy the waitress.

“Micky …”

Micky turned back to Mike. “It’s him, isn’t it. That guy! I don’t even know his damn name because you’re so stingy with the details of what went on back there. But it’s him, right?”

“His name is Joe … Josiah. He just got back from ‘Nam, okay? He was wounded real bad. I never thought in a million years I’d see Joe Williams in long hair and dirty dungarees!”

“Have you forgotten that you were ‘wounded real bad,’ too and it’s entirely his fault?” Micky hissed.

Mike shushed him crossly. “I know, man! I was there! But that was a long time ago and it’s just a drink, Micky. I ain’t inviting him to come live with us or nothin’. Just a drink. He came all this way and it would be rude not to sit down with him for a little bit.”

“Have you wondered _why_ he came all this way?” Micky asked softly.

“Why … what … oh, hell, no, Micky. It ain’t like that.”

“An old crush shows up out of the blue after having traveled over a thousand miles and wants to spend time with you? What if an old girlfriend of mine turned up here and wanted to spend time with me, huh?”

“That ain’t the same,” Mike scoffed.

“Yeah … how?” Micky challenged.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mike said, roughly stuffing his cords into a bag. “It ain’t like that. And even if it were … I ain’t interested in any of that with him. I’m with you, Mick. You know that.”

“Until the guy of your dreams comes back from the war looking like a sad, wounded bird and wanting your time and attention,” Micky said.

“Would you quiet down about that stuff, Mick?” Mike hissed. “Jesus. We’re in public!” He hefted up his guitar case and bag and stalked off the stage, Micky at his heels.

Mike paused in the small alcove that separated the stage from the load-in entrance. It was dark and quiet. “Micky … _you’re_ the guy of my dreams, okay? I swear. I’m gonna have one beer with this cat and then I’m gonna split. He just got back from war, for god’s sake.”

“A war we all fundamentally disagree with,” said Micky.

“Don’t matter!” said Mike. “All kinds of guys our age are over there, voluntarily and against their will. And they’re being slaughtered. And our number could come up any day. But Josiah made it back. Barely. And I think I owe him a damn drink and a few minutes of my time.”

“In spite of what he did?” Micky said softly.

Mike nodded. “In spite of what he did. Vietnam … that whole scene … it changes people. Joe … he told me part of him died in the jungle. He used to hate being called Josiah and now it’s all he wants to be called by. He’s corrected me a buncha times already. Doesn’t that say something?”

“Great, so he’s got a new name. Big deal.”

“Micky, I ain’t got time for this right now,” Mike said.

“What, are you in such a big rush to see your old pal?” Micky said, knowing he sounded petty and childish, but his stomach was twisting in knots at the thought of Mike with another guy. But particularly another guy who had betrayed and hurt Mike in the past.

Mike’s mouth pinched for a moment, but he took a breath and reached out to squeeze Micky’s shoulder. “You know that ain’t true. You don’t need to worry, okay? l know what I’m doin’.” He then looked furtively around before leaning in and swiftly kissing Micky on the mouth.

But Micky wouldn’t be placated. “Mike … please don’t …”

“I already told him I would, Mick. C’mon. Relax, okay? I’ll see you at home.” Mike gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and walked away from Micky to take his gear to the Monkeemobile. Micky stared after him unhappily before going back in to grab the rest of his kit.

* * *

Mike explained to Davy and Peter that he was staying behind to have a drink with an old friend and that he’d find his own way home. Micky was nowhere to be found, but Mike couldn’t worry about that at the moment. He went back into the club and made his way over to Josiah’s table. Josiah had managed to toss back two more double whiskeys in the time it took Mike to finish his load-out. Mike knew what Joe looked and sounded like when he was drunk. What he smelled like. Joe had been drunk earlier when he approached Mike, but he was fairly plastered now.

“Another round of whiskey and keep ’em comin’,” said Josiah, grinning and banging his fist on the table when Sandy came over to take their orders.

“Hey, hold on just a sec!” said Mike, shaking his head at Sandy. “Just a beer for me and don’t keep anything ‘coming.’”

Josiah scowled as Sandy nodded knowingly at Mike and walked away. “Oh, c’mon, Nesmith. Don’t be such a fuckin’ pussy. You gone so soft since leaving Texas that you won’t drink a man’s drink with me?”

Mike’s eyes darkened and he spoke quietly. “I know it’s the damn drink mainly talkin’, Joe, but if you call me a pussy again or say I gone soft and or I ain’t a real man … I’m walkin’ outta here. I ain’t clockin’ a drunk, crippled war vet in this place. I _work_ here, man.”

Josiah flinched and backed down, suddenly swinging from aggressive to mournful. “I’m sorry, man. Don’t go. I’m … I know I’m a little drunk, but I was nervous about seein’ you.”

Sandy came back with the drinks and set down a beer in front of Mike and a whiskey in front of Josiah. The two boys stayed quiet until she left again. They toasted silently and drank.

“I still like a beer now and again,” said Mike, “but I don’t drink the hard stuff anymore. I don’t like getting out of control. Ever since … y’know …”

Josiah nodded and looked down into his drink. “Yeah. I’m … sorry, Mike.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it, Joe.”

“It’s Josiah. Call me Josiah, Mike.”

“Josiah. If you come here to dredge all of that up again … I ain’t that interested in makin’ you feel better about it. You did what you did. It’s done.”

“I’m not. Not really. I know there’s nothin’ I can say to fix it. I was a coward. I thought maybe going to war would make me feel like I could do something right. Become someone different. Become the kind of man my pa wants me to be.”

Mike snorted and took a long pull on his beer. “And how did _that_ work out for ya?”

Josiah smirked bitterly and knocked back the three fingers of whiskey in a single gulp. “You already know. Look at me. I’m a drunk, crippled fag who let the best thing in his life get away, and got his ass handed to him by the VC.”

Mike set his beer back down on the table with a clatter, alarmed by Josiah’s language and the volume of his voice. “Don’t talk like that here, Joe. I mean it.”

Josiah slammed his glass down on the table and yelled, “IT’S JOSIAH, FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

“Nesmith!” yelled Lou, the club owner, from across the room. “Either your buddy keeps it down or I’m gonna have to ask you both to leave.”

Mike stood up. “We’re just leavin’ now, Lou.”

“No!” said Josiah. “I want another drink! We ain’t done here!”

“Oh, yes we are,” said Mike, grabbing Josiah by the elbow. “It’s time for us to go. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder. I’ll do it.”

Josiah looked up at him, his brilliant blue eyes bleary and full of sadness and pain. “You always let me pin you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Josiah nodded and slowly got to his feet, swaying. Mike handed him his cane and slipped an arm around his waist, leading them out of the club and out into the cooler summer night air.

They walked slowly in silence, Mike letting Josiah get some air, hoping it would settle him down a bit — trying not to think about that night when they’d walked together, holding each other the same way — but then Josiah leaned in hard to him, planted his cane, and all but dragged Mike into the quiet darkness of some nearby trees.

“Joe … Josiah … what’re you doin’?”

And Josiah was clumsily pushing Mike up against a tree, his cane falling to the ground, and for a brief flash Mike remembered being pushed up against that splintered old shed, the rough wood prickling his skin underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Somethin’ I shoulda done years ago,” Josiah whispered roughly and then his mouth was on Mike’s, giving him the kiss he’d longed for that night and had been denied. Only now, again, everything felt all wrong. Josiah’s mouth was hard and desperate and he tasted of whiskey. He reeked of it the same way he had the night he’d forced Mike down onto his knees and offered him up like a sacrificial lamb to his friends.

Mike growled and was about to push him away when a voice cried out, “YOU GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF HIM, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Josiah was wrenched away from Mike as Micky leaped forward onto Josiah’s back with a snarl and took him down hard to the ground.

“Micky!” Mike cried.

And then Micky was on top of Josiah, growling curses and driving his fists into the other boy’s face, his blows clumsy but effective and Mike saw blood spurt from Josiah’s nose. Josiah moaned and flailed, but was too drunk and confused to fight back.

“MICKY!” Mike yelled, and lurched forward, grabbing his lover under his arms and yanking him up and off Josiah. Micky howled in protest, arms flailing and legs kicking as Mike pulled him away and restrained him. “Micky! For god’s sake, stop! What the hell are you doin’?”

Micky gradually stilled in Mike’s grasp, letting out a sob of fury. “What are _you_ doing with him, Mike? I wasn’t going to let him … he can’t hurt you again! I couldn’t go home and leave you here, thinking he was going to hurt you again!”

Demon-Mike woke up and popped up on his shoulder. “He thinks you’re weak and pathetic. You can’t even defend yourself against this fool. Micky doesn’t trust you. He barely even respectsssss you.”

Mike shoved Micky away from him, fists clenched. “You think I can’t handle this on my own, huh? It was six against one last time. And now it’s me against one drunk cripple, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need you fightin’ for me!”

Micky flinched as if Mike had struck him. “So what were you doing kissing him, huh? Letting him put his hands on you. He didn’t look so helpless then.”

By now Josiah had managed to sit up and spat blood into the grass, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve, his nose already swelling up. “What the hell is this, Mike? Is this kid your fucking _boyfriend_ or somethin’?”

“Damn right I am, you piece of shit! And you keep your hands off him!” Micky barked, then he glared at Mike. “Didn’t even tell him about me, huh?”

“Quit speakin’ for me!” Mike yelled, then took a shaky breath. “And keep it down, both of you? We’re all gonna get our asses kicked if people overhear this.”

Micky stared at him, appalled. “Are you actually angry with me for standing up for you? Against someone who never stood up for you a day in his life?”

“It ain’t about that!” Mike growled. “And it ain’t like it was back then. Look at him, Micky. He’s not the same …”

Micky looked more hurt than Mike had ever seen him before, but everything was happening too fast and Josiah was hurt and bleeding and unable to even get to his feet.

“So … are you going with me … or him?” Micky folded his arms over his chest and stared Mike down.

Angel-Mike popped up, shaking his head. “You know what you have to do. It’s gonna hurt.”

“Micky,” Mike implored. “Like I said, it ain’t like that! You just beat the shit out of him … he ain’t got no one … I can’t just leave him here.”

“Like he left you after him and all his buddies beat the shit out of you? Left you in the bushes like … how is it you said … _roadkill_?”

Mike pressed his lips together. Josiah hung his head.

“Just ’cause he was a cowardly piece of shit that night don’t mean I gotta act the same way,” Mike said quietly.

“Oh, how _noble_,” Micky sneered.

Mike shook his head. “Just … go home, babe. Please. I’ll be back later, I promise.”

“Oh, you can shove your promise,” Micky spat, waving a dismissive hand at him. “Come back, stay with him, I don’t care. You made your choice.” And he stalked off into the darkness.

“Mick …” Mike murmured helplessly.

Angel-Mike fluttered nearby. “It’ll be okay. You know what to do. You’ve known for so long, Mike. I’m just here to remind you. It hurts before it gets better.”

“Sometimes I think I liked it better before you got here,” Mike muttered darkly, kneeling to haul Josiah to his feet.

“Oh, I know. But you need me. More than you even know.”


	2. The Lights of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injured, devastated Micky finally gets back to the Pad and Davy, sensing something off about the entire evening, is waiting for him with Peter.

It wasn’t until Micky started getting strange looks from passersby on the street that he noticed he had blood spattered down the front of his shirt and on his hands. “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He was on the verge of tears as it was as he stormed home, still unable to believe what he’d seen. Josiah and Mike kissing. He’d seen Josiah push Mike up against the tree, but Mike didn’t seem to have fought back that much. Or at all.

“Did you give him a chance to fight back?” Angel-Micky popped up on one side of him. “You were on Josiah awfully fast. He was drunk and he’s crippled — not exactly a massive threat to Mike.”

“No excuse!” growled devil-Micky, who appeared on Micky’s other shoulder. “We trusted that mug and he went and played around the moment loverboy from Dallas comes sniffing around.”

“Stop exaggerating!” angel-Micky scolded. “We don’t know what really happened!”

“Oh, stuff it, goody two-wings,” devil-Micky sneered. “We saw enough. And guess who he chose … not us!”

“Not me,” Micky whispered miserably, wrapping his arms around his thin body, trying to hide the blood on his shirt and hands, walking as quickly as he could … he just wanted to go home and hide under the covers.

* * *

Micky managed to keep himself together until he saw his front door and the lights glowing from the Pad, welcoming him home. He realized how much energy he’d spent recently on worrying about Mike and looking after Mike and having to take charge when it wasn’t really his nature. He was exhausted and he was sad, and he had nothing left in him. He hiccuped and tears started to run down his face as he reached for the door with his bloodied right hand and went inside.

Davy was restlessly watching TV on the sofa when the door opened. Something about the vibe at the end of the night hadn’t sat right with him. Mike had told them he was staying behind to catch up with an old friend, which was fine, except he seemed tense and weird about it. And then Micky had told him to also go on home without him, but hadn’t given a reason at all. Just mumbled it at Davy and walked away quickly. It was enough for Davy to cancel on a “date” after the show and go straight home. Something about it all seemed fishy to him, but he’d kept his concern hidden from Peter until he had proof that something was off.

When Micky stumbled into the Pad, bloodied and crying, he had his proof. Davy was on his feet and in Micky’s space seemingly within seconds, his senses on high alert.

“Micky!” he exclaimed. “Blimey, what the hell happened to you? Jesus, you’re covered in blood, mate! We need to get you to the hospital! PETAH! COME ’ERE!”

“No, no, no,” Micky sobbed. “It’s … it’s not mine … not my blood …”

Davy made a face. “That’s … good? But wait … then WHOSE BLOOD IS IT?”

Peter materialized upon hearing Davy’s sharp call and Micky’s crying. Out of sheer instinct he gently hugged Micky and Micky was grateful for the embrace, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder, shuddering, trying to get himself under control. Still hiccuping and weeping, he stepped back and stammered. “I … I got into a fight. I hit someone. In the nose. There was a lot of blood.”

Davy narrowed his eyes. “You … didn’t kill anyone, did ya?”

The idea of this was ridiculous enough to nearly switch off Micky’s tears and he managed a choked laugh. “Me? Kill someone? You must be joking!”

“Hey, that’s my line,” Davy complained. But he managed a smile and took Micky by the arm. “C’mon, Cassius Clay, let’s get you cleaned up and maybe you wanna tell me what happened. And where was Mike when all this was goin’ on?”

* * *

Oh, crap. Micky hadn’t thought about what he was going to tell Davy and Peter about Josiah. It was Mike’s big secret and it wasn’t Micky’s to tell. Even though Micky thought their housemates had a right to know. At least a little bit about what happened. Micky still didn’t know the details himself. Mike had only provided a broad sketch of that terrible night.

Davy took Micky into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet seat lid. “All right, then. I ain’t skilled like our Maxine, but I think we can deal with this.” He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the small First Aid kit (which Maxine had stocked and given to them, “for the times you can’t reach me”) and took out a bottle of iodine and some cotton balls. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Take your shirt off — that blood is putting me off.”

Micky stripped to his waist and held out his right hand as Davy began to clean off the blood, hissing at the sting.

“So, what happened, mate? I’ve never seen you wallop someone ever in the time I’ve known you. Who’d you hit?”

“This guy Josiah,” Micky said softly. “An old Texas friend of Mike’s.”

Davy blinked. “Like … an ex …”

Micky shrugged. “Not really. Kinda. Davy, I can’t really explain, okay? It’s not my story to tell. I’ll just say that something bad happened to Mike back home and this guy Josiah was involved. And so I punched him in the face. A few times.”

Davy nodded, pursing his lips. “Fair enough, Mick. I respect a chap who can keep a secret for a friend. And I also I respect a chap who will punch a tosser right in the gob when they hurt his friends. Anyone who would hurt Mike … or any of you guys … I’d sock ’em in the face, too.”

Micky managed a wan smile and Davy was strangely moved by his sad, sweet expression and for just the briefest of moments he thought he sort of understood why Mike liked Micky the way he did. In that kind of way. But he also noticed that Micky had some hints of blood on his face.

“Crikey, you’re a right mess, mate,” he tutted, putting down the cotton and reaching for a washcloth, running it under the tap and wringing it out. “Come on now, I’m gonna wipe down that silly mug of yours. More blood on you. When you get into a fight, you really make it count, huh?”

Micky squeezed his eyes shut, but chuckled as Davy wiped his face off until he was satisfied that all the blood was gone. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Someone’s gotta look after you. You’ve been carrying us lately, Mick. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Where was our fearless leader in all of this mess with … what’s his name … Josiah?”

Micky shrugged. “He pulled me off the guy. And then went home with him.”

Davy, who had gone back to disinfecting the wounds on Micky’s hands, stopped everything and looked up in shock. “He _wot_?”

Devil-Micky whispered in his ear. “He went home with that blond and they’re probably screwing right now. Tell Davy that. Get him on your side. You can get them all on your side. This is yours to win.”

“If you do that, no one _wins_ anything,” angel-Micky murmured in the other ear. “Don’t tell lies. Don’t exaggerate what you _think_ is happening. Mike said he was taking Josiah home and then he was coming right back. Let him prove that before you go and tell tales to Davy.”

Micky grimaced and shook his head. “He … said he was taking Josiah back to where he was crashing. He’s … he was pretty drunk and he was injured fighting in Vietnam. Can’t walk real good.”

Davy processed that, then nodded, resuming his task. “So … he didn’t ‘go home’ with the guy.”

“That’s what he said, but I dunno …” Micky said, frowning.

Davy shrugged. “I think you oughta take Mike at his word, doncha think? At least for now? He’s a pretty honest bloke.”

“I guess,” Micky groused. “But … Davy … can we swap beds tonight? I don’t … I don’t wanna see him until the morning. I’m still so mad at him … I just … he’ll wanna talk when he gets home. _If_ he comes home. And I just need to go to bed and sleep. Tonight was terrible.”

“Yeah, all right, then,” Davy agreed, screwing the cap back on the bottle of iodine. “I get that.” He nodded at Micky’s hands. “It’s not ’orrible, but you’ll probably see some swelling and bruising. I been in enough bare-knuckle fights to know. You only broke the skin a little bit. I think I cleaned it up pretty good, but you should ice it for a bit.”

Micky shook his head. “Tomorrow, man. Tomorrow. I’m so beat. Thanks for letting me swap tonight, Davy. And for … everything. You’re a pal.”

“What friends are for, mate. You get some sleep, all right?”

“’Kay. Night, Davy.”

Micky shuffled off to his room to get changed into his pajamas before heading off to Peter and Davy’s room, his head hung low. He appreciated Davy taking care of him and trying to make him feel better, but all he could think about was how he’d given Mike a choice and Mike chose to go with Josiah. _He doesn’t want me anymore. I was just a distraction until the one he really wanted showed up. It was never me._


	3. The Starwood Motel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josiah and Mike are stranded together and facing down another dangerous situation until a friend shows up in their time of need.

Josiah was staying in a cheap motel on the outskirts of town. Even if he’d had been sober it was way too far to walk with his bad leg. He’d taken a taxi to the Gogh-Gogh, but the fact that he was now bloodied up and drunk and alternating between ranting and crying was making things very difficult as Mike tried again and again to hail a cab only to be ignored or have curses shouted at them through the window. He knew what they looked like — two long-haired boys at the side of the road late at night, one of them with a bloodied face, and Mike looked drunk by association — and quickly realized that they were kind of stuck.

“I got money,” Josiah half-blubbered, half-snarled. “I got damn money … why won’t they stop, huh? Think they’re too good for us? Well, they can go to HELL!”

“Would you shut yer damn mouth, man?” Mike said crossly. “You ain’t helpin’ things! Jesus, if this don’t stop, I’m gonna have to drag you back to the Pad so I can get the Monkeemobile.”

“I could just crash with you, Mikey,” Josiah slurred. “I don’t wanna go back to that motel alone. Lemme stay with you. Please. I won’t be no trouble.”

“You’ve been nothin’ but since you turned up here, Josiah,” Mike muttered, waving his arm at another taxi that actually accelerated when the driver caught sight of them. He didn’t want to try to thumb a ride … that sometimes attracted the wrong kind of attention late at night. But he was _not_ bringing Josiah back to crash at the Pad. Not with Micky there, furious with both of them. He would just have to make this work somehow.

About ten minutes later, Mike was still keeping his eyes peeled for another passing taxi or even a friend when a huge Mercury Monterey sedan glided up and pulled over beside them. A window rolled down and a lantern-jawed young man with a brush-cut and huge biceps looked them up and down from the passenger seat. Mike felt a chill run down his spine. The car’s driver eyed them as well, and the backseat passenger rolled down his window and leered at them in predatory way, grinning while chewing a toothpick.

“You fellas look like you need a ride.”

“Damn right we do!” Josiah slurred. “Them sumbitch taxi drivers won’t stop for us. Thinkin’ they’re so high ’n’ mighty, goddamn sumbitches …”

“Well, that just ain’t right,” the first man drawled, but Mike could tell he wasn’t Southern — he was mocking the way Josiah spoke. “Why don’t _y’all_ hop in and we’ll give you a lift.”

“Naw, but thanks,” Mike said quickly. “We’re waitin’ on a friend.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Mike?” Josiah blurted out, taking a step toward the Merc. “We ain’t got no —”

“I said, we’re fine as we are,” Mike interjected, shooting Josiah a warning look. “We got a ride comin’, so thanks, gentlemen, but no, thanks. We’re okay here.”

The passenger-side man pursed his lips and looked Mike in the eyes. “Maybe we insist.”

Mike clenched his hands into fists and stared daggers at him. “You can try, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You best be lookin’ for some easier game to hunt, if y’all catch my drift.”

“Aw, c’mon, Carl, it’s not worth it. I’m bored … leave the fags alone,” said the driver.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Josiah roared, lurching forward, but Mike caught him around the chest and held him back. “Leave it, Joe! Let it be!” he barked.

The one named Carl laughed and spat at them. “Fuckin’ hippie faggot freaks.”

A half-full beer can flew out at them from the backseat window and struck Mike in the shoulder and spilling onto his sleeve. “Ow … sonuvabitch!”

The Merc sped away with the men’s laughter hanging in the air.

“What the fuck was that?” Josiah said, shocked.

“Jesus Christ, Josiah!” Mike yelled, stepping close and getting in the blond’s face. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You spent so long bein’ one of _them_ that you don’t realize you’re one of _us_ now! You think you can grow your hair and wear that hippie tie-dye shit and make a mockery of your army uniform and still walk the streets the way you did before? It don’t work like that. Not even here! And that’s fine if that’s your bag now, man. But you woulda been killed, or somewhere close to it if you’d gotten in that car. You got no sense, you drunk fool!”

Mike pushed Josiah away and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling his control beginning to slip. That had been too close a call. He wasn’t going to take another life-threatening beating because Josiah didn’t know when to shut the fuck up. “You got no sense, man …” he whispered, feeling his eyes welling up and fighting to keep from losing it completely.

“Mike,” Josiah said, softly, reaching out his hand.

Mike shrank away. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me. Not now, Joe. Not ever.”

“I told you Mike, call me —”

“I know what your damn name is! You’re still Joe to me, you get it?”

The two boys glared at each other, each on the verge of enraged tears when a little blue Volkswagen Beetle came around the bend and pulled up beside them. The window rolled down and Mike was astonished to see Maxine blinking at him.

“Mike, I thought that was you! I thought you’d be long gone for home by now. I was just coming back through after dropping my girlfriends off …” Maxine trailed off for a moment as she took in Josiah’s bloodied face and the boys’ tense, unhappy body language. Mike looked like he was about to cry. “You … you need a lift somewhere?”

Mike could have kissed her. Never mind that last time he’d seen her he’d been pretty rude to her and then she made a play for Micky right in front of him and he’d nearly lost his cool then, too.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Mike said. “Tryin’ to get my friend Josiah here back to the Starwood Motel and no cabbies will give us the time of day. I guess I can’t blame ’em.” Mike glanced back at Josiah, who was swaying uncertainly, blood still dripping from his swollen nose.

“What happened to him?”

“His face got real familiar with Micky’s fists.”

Maxine’s eyes widened. “What? _Micky?_ Why?”

Mike swung his head back to glare at Josiah. “He knows why.”

Josiah had the grace to look ashamed.

“Okaaay,” Maxine said, realizing that was about the extent of explanation she was going to get. “Well, hop in. I know where the Starwood is. I mean, not that I … have been there. But I know where it’s located and …” she trailed off again as she saw Mike taking in the dimensions of her compact car and frowning.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly a Ford Fairlane, and it’s a bit rough for tall people, but if one of you goes in the back they can spread out a bit and the other in the front. Beggars can’t be choosers!”

“Certainly not,” Mike muttered. He opened the door, cranked the seat forward and angled his chin at Josiah. “You git in the back here.”

“Maybe he should sit in the front if he’s got the cane and —”

“Git in the back, Josiah,” Mike repeated firmly.

“Okay,” Maxine said once again. What on earth had gone on between these two? And if Micky had punched the blond, then why was Mike escorting him back to his motel?

The bloody-faced boy named Josiah stumbled toward the car. Mike took his cane and half-helped, half-shoved him into the cramped back seat of the Bug. He handed Josiah his cane and then cranked the passenger front seat back again and slipped into it, bending his long legs to the point where his knees pressed against the dashboard before he slammed the door shut. The visual effect was not unlike a grown man trying to fit into a child’s pedal-car.

Maxine tried and failed to hold back a giggle. Mike glared at her for a moment, and then his face split into a wide grin and he started laughing, too. “Goddammit, Maxine, did you buy this car at a German flea circus or what?”

Josiah was laughing, too, snuffling through his stuffed-up nose, the ice broken somewhat as Maxine pulled away and headed in the direction of the Starwood.

“I like my car!” Maxine protested, still giggling. “Not my fault it’s not designed for beanpoles like you guys! Hey … Mike … grab my purse, will you? It should be at your feet. If you can reach down.”

Mike furrowed his brow and leaned forward, awkwardly, feeling around until his fingers brushed cool leather and he came up with Maxine’s handbag. He held it out uncertainly at arm’s length, like it was an animal threatening to bite.

“Oh my gosh, you are such a boy,” Maxine chuckled. “I’m driving, Mike! Open the purse. If you can play a guitar, you can figure out a purse clasp. There should be a clean hanky in there, and I want you to give that to your friend. Because he needs it. And he can keep it. I don’t want him bleeding on my seats, okay?”

Mike looked down at the handbag and fumbled with the clasp, getting it open on the second try. He located the handkerchief and thrust it over into the backseat to Josiah, who accepted it gratefully.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely before pressing it to his bleeding nose. Mike closed Maxine’s purse and gently set it down on the floor again.

A tense silence fell once more. Maxine glanced at Mike, who’d folded his arms over his chest and stared stonily at the road. She’d never had luck in talking about much to Mike even when he was supposedly in a good mood. But something had transpired between these two tonight and Mike looked very unhappy about it.

“I don’t get ‘ma’am-ed’ very much by boys my own age around here,” Maxine said lightly, addressing Josiah. “I assume you’re a Texas friend of Mike’s?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Josiah said, muffled through the handkerchief. “By way of Dallas.”

Mike seemed to tense more, but Maxine, desperate to break the silence, pushed on. “Thank you for your service, Josiah,” she said quietly. “I … kind of guessed from the jacket and the cane. You were in Vietnam?”

Josiah had blinked in surprise at both her deduction and her statement of gratitude. “Yes, ma’am. First Infantry Division. Was, uh … took some shrapnel from a landmine during an operation in the Mekong Delta. As you can see, I’m still here to tell the tale, but my war days are over.” His words were still slightly slurred together, but he was making far more sense than earlier, his ingrained Texan manners with women overriding everything else.

Maxine paused for a moment. “Josiah … I’m Maxine, by the way …” she looked pointedly at Mike, who grimaced in embarrassment.

Josiah let out a bark of laughter. “This boy’s manners have gone to pot since he moved to California. I’m telling your momma.”

“You never even met my momma,” Mike snorted.

“Well, I’ll tell Chuck and _he’ll_ tell your momma.”

Mike’s eyes widened a little. “Now, don’t you dare, Joe!”

Maxine smiled. “Joe or Josiah?”

“Josiah. This jackass here can’t seem to manage the extra two syllables.”

Mike scowled. “Watch your mouth, boy. There’s a lady present.”

“Never stopped you before.” Maxine smirked.

Josiah regarded the two of them curiously. “Now, how d’ya two know each other?”

“I’m a fan of the Monkees,” Maxine said. “But I’m studying to become a nurse and I, uh, help the boys out with some of their … scrapes.”

“Scrapes?” Josiah asked curiously, finally removing the hanky from his face, checking it for more blood and seeming satisfied that it had stopped for the moment.

“Never you mind,” Mike said. “Just … things happen. And she helps us out when we don’t got the bread to see a doctor.”

Josiah let out a rueful chuckle. “You ain’t changed that much, Nesmith. Still a closed book.”

“Stop talkin’ like you know me, Joe,” Mike muttered. “We ain’t friends no more. I’m just doing what’s right here.”

“I didn’t ask you to see me back, y’know.”

“What were you gonna do, huh? I wasn’t gonna leave you there after Micky laid you out.”

“After he jumped me from behind like a —”

“Okay, okay,” Maxine interrupted, as the tension rose again. “Clearly you two have some history, but this isn’t the time for it. Josiah … if you don’t find it too upsetting to talk about, I’m curious to know about the nature of your injury and what kinds of procedures you had done. I ask because I’m going to be a nurse and I’m interested in surgery. Maybe becoming a scrub nurse someday. But I’ll understand if I’m prying too much …”

“Naw, it’s okay,” Josiah said after a moment of deliberation. “No one, uh, really asks me about it, actually. I don’t think they really wanna know. But I’ll tell you. I don’t remember all the fancy doctor jargon, but I’ll do my best …”

The rest of the trip was taken up by Josiah and Maxine talking about Josiah’s injury and recovery process. Mike personally found some of the details rather gruesome, but Josiah was able to talk about it matter-of-factly and Maxine seemed fascinated by it all. And it did kind of drive home some of what Josiah had been through during his tour of duty. So he held his tongue and was relieved when the neon sign for the motel glowed ahead of them.

Maxine pulled into the space outside Room 8 and parked the car.

Mike opened the door, got out, and cranked the seat forward, reaching out a hand to help Josiah wrestle himself out of the back seat. “Thanks a lot, Maxine. I mean it. We were in a tight spot and —”

“I think I should come in and check your friend out. If that’s okay with you, Josiah.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna trouble you any further, ma’am. I’ll be fine.”

“I insist,” said Maxine, firmly, making eye contact with Mike, who sighed and shrugged.

“All right, then.”

Josiah pulled out a room key from his jacket pocket and handed it to Mike, who walked up and opened the door to the room as Josiah and Maxine followed.

The room was dingy, but clean enough, save for the mess Josiah had made. Clothes strewn about and a few empty whiskey bottles.

“Let me check you out in the bathroom — the light should be better there,” Maxine said, stepping into the small lavatory and flicking on the light. “C’mon, the nurse will see you now.”

Josiah hobbled in after her and Mike turned around in the room, finally plucking some clothes off a chair and sinking down into it, rubbing a hand wearily over his face, wondering how the night had gotten away from him like this. Now he had time to worry about Micky and their argument. Had he just ruined everything? Had he made the wrong choice in seeing to Josiah like this?

He could feel the angel and demon wanting their say and gritted his teeth, willing them away. _Just leave me be. I got enough to worry about._

About five minutes later, Maxine washed her hands and emerged from the bathroom. She looked at Mike. “He’ll be all right. His nose isn’t broken — it’ll just be swollen for a while and he’ll probably have a shiner by tomorrow. I cleaned him up and told him to use a cold compress for a while before going to sleep.” She paused awkwardly for a moment. “Are … are you staying here with him?”

“Whaddya mean, am I _stayin’_ here with him?” said Mike defensively, gripping the arms of the chair in angry fists.

Maxine held up her hands. “I just meant … are you staying with him to … catch up, or keep an eye on him, or do you want me to drive you back to the Pad? That’s all I meant, Mike, honest.”

Mike relaxed, then rubbed his face again. “Sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s … been a long night. I, uh … I just wanna go home. But I should … say goodbye.”

“Okay,” Maxine said softly. “It’s okay, Mike. I’ll just be waiting in the car, then.”

“Okay … thanks, Max. Thanks a lot.”

She smiled tentatively and let herself out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Mike heard Josiah pissing after he was sure Maxine was gone, and then he emerged from the bathroom and limped to the bed, sitting down heavily. He was looking considerably better with the excess blood cleaned off his face. He held a cold, wet washcloth in one hand.

“You oughta marry that girl,” he said. “She’s outta sight.”

“I ain’t nearly good enough for her,” Mike said. “Neither are you. We both know why.”

“Then stay here with me,” Josiah said, simply, and Mike flinched at the directness of his request.

“I can’t do that, Joe.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“You ain’t married to that kid or nothin’. C’mon, Mike … we’re … finally away from all that bullshit in Dallas. That whole scene. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like if we —”

“Yeah, I wondered!” Mike snapped. “Goddamn it, Joe, I wondered for the whole time I was in Dallas. Hung around even when those asshole ‘friends’ of yours treated me like some bumpkin who fell off the turnip truck. Chuck’s poor redneck friend from the country. Just hopin’, maybe, for a scrap of extra attention from you. I waited … and I wondered … and you know what that got me?”

“Mike …” Josiah said softly.

“It got me here. To California. And to my band. And to Micky,” Mike said. “And he’s home right now … pissed as hell at me because I’m here with your sorry ass instead of there with him. I go to bed with that gorgeous ‘kid’ every night, Joe. And I thank my goddamn lucky stars every night that I get to do that. And that’s what I intend to do tonight, as well. You get it? I ain’t thankin’ you for what you did to drive me outta Dallas, but at least it brought me the good stuff I got goin’ on now. And you ain’t goin’ to ruin that for me.”

Josiah nodded miserably, staring at the floor.

“You don’t get to make me feel shitty about this, Josiah,” Mike said quietly, using his full name this time. “You just don’t. Not after what you did.”

“I know,” Josiah whispered. “I know. I just … would always wonder if I didn’t ask.” His eyes welled up again. “I’m sorry, Mike. To cause so much trouble. I’m real sorry, man …”

“Aw, Joe,” Mike said, standing up. “Too much whiskey always made you maudlin. You need to sleep it off, man. Maxine is waiting for me outside. I’m going home and you need to crash.”

Josiah nodded again and started to stand up, but Mike stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him down. Remembering the time Josiah did the same thing to him, but for entirely different reasons. “Don’t get up. Just lie down and go to sleep, Joe. It’s the best thing right now.”

“Will … can I see you again?”

“I dunno. I can’t think about that right now, man. But I know where you are. Let’s just leave it at that for tonight, all right?”

“Okay … see you later, Mike.”

“Bye, Josiah.”

And he turned around and quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Maxine watched as Mike exited the room, looking upset, and then he paused and took a deep breath and seemed to try to collect himself. She’d never seen him like this before. Mike was always … closed off. Pragmatic and unemotional and the undisputed leader of the band. But something about the blond ex-soldier seemed to get to him. But that’s what old friends from the past could do. She knew it was none of her business and it was probably best to just pretend that everything was fine for Mike’s sake.

He opened the car door and squeezed his long limbs back into the cramped seat before closing it. “You didn’t have to wait, y’know.”

“Yeah, I did,” she said quietly, starting up the car and pulling out. “A cab would cost a fortune back to the Pad and you’d be walking for ages to get home on foot.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. I know. You didn’t have to do it, but I’m glad you did. Thanks for helping out. I mean it … we were … in a tight spot there.” He looked uncomfortably at Maxine and changed the subject abruptly. “Hey, did Micky give you the money after the gig? I know it’s not all we owe you, but it was about half.”

“He did,” Maxine said. “He remembered. Thanks — don’t worry about it. There’s no rush.”

“Kay. We, uh … we’re behind on rent as usual, so …”

“I get it, Mike,” Maxine said. “You’re not the only kids struggling to make ends meet around here, y’know.”

Mike braced an elbow on the door and stared out into the starry night as the little car sped along. “I’m sorry I was kind of a jerk to you the other day when Mick and Davy brought me to see you.” He made a point of continuing to stare out the window while Maxine blinked, surprised by the apology.

“It’s okay, Mike.”

“You keep sayin’ that. ‘It’s okay.’ But it’s not okay. I dunno why you put up with us. Well, me, especially. Hell, I dunno why anyone puts up with me, to be honest. But it seems like you don’t get that much out of our arrangement compared to us.”

Maxine was quiet for a moment. Mike didn’t seem to be fishing for compliments. He wasn’t really the type — that was more a Davy thing. So she decided to tell the truth. “I think I get more out of it than you guys do, actually.”

Mike turned to look at her, surprised. “How d’ya reckon that?”

Maxine shrugged, looking straight ahead at the road. “I get the music. You don’t get it, Mike … I know you boys feel like underdogs and that you’re trying so hard to make it, but for a bunch of us … you’ve already made it. Yeah, I wish you could make a bunch of records and be on the radio all the time so you wouldn’t have to worry about rent and bills and I could listen to the Monkees at home while I study. Though I probably wouldn’t get much studying done because I just love to dance to your music.”

Mike looked sidelong at her with a soft smile.

“All I do is go to school and study and work to pay for school so I can go to school and study. I go to school with all girls, so I don’t really get any dates. I don’t really have time to date anyway. I only mentioned it to Micky because I thought he dated around a lot and maybe he could spare a night for me at some point.”

“That was once true …” Mike murmured.

“The only fun thing I ever get to do is go to a Monkees gig and dance with my other dateless nursing-student friends and some of the boys we meet there. It’s the one nice thing I do for myself. And if me making sure you don’t have a concussion or loaning you guys some money to keep your instruments out of hock helps me keep that one thing … then it seems fair to me. Not to mention all the practical experience I get from treating all your … mishaps. I’m at the top of my class!”

Mike crossed his arms over his narrow chest again, but not in a defensive way this time. He smiled. “Well … when you put it that way …”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“… you wanna listen to the radio, Mike?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Maxine turned on the radio and they drove the rest of the way back to the Pad in comfortable silence. It was probably the best conversation she’d ever had with Mike and might ever have, and she wanted it to end on a high note.


	4. I've Been at Your Door All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike finally gets home to the Pad, desperate to make up with Micky. And it's showdown time for the angels, devils, and demons behind the scenes.

After Maxine dropped him off, Mike entered the Pad with a sense of trepidation. He half-expected to find Micky waiting up for him, which had made him nervous, but finding the house dark and silent was somehow worse. He quietly climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered his darkened bedroom. He saw Micky sleeping in his own bed and couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke the soft hair peeking out from the nest of blankets and sheets.

“Aw, Mick … I’m so sorry I—ahhhh!”

“Oi! What the hell?” Davy sputtered, struggling to sit up.

“Jesus, Davy! I thought you were Micky! You can’t blame me that much … _you’re in his bed_. What’re you doin’ up here?”

Davy groaned, rubbing his eyes. “What do you think I’m doin’ up here? You made a right mess of things tonight, man. Micky came home crying and covered in another bloke’s blood. Your good ol’ pal from Texas, apparently.”

“Oh lord,” Mike breathed.

“Yeah — it was not good, Mike. I cleaned him up and he said he didn’t wanna sleep in his room tonight because he didn’t want to see you. So I let him crash in my bed and here I am. And I’m not chuffed at seeing you right now, either, to be honest. I ain’t never seen him in that state before. I don’t know what the hell you did to upset him that much. To make him feel like he needed to have a fist-fight, but I ain’t happy about it. Whatever he knows that you told him — he kept it to himself.”

“I gotta talk to him,” said Mike, moving away, but Davy caught his sleeve.

“Bad idea, mate. Don’t do it. Let him sleep. He’ll be calmer after a good night’s sleep.”

“But —”

“It’s _Micky_, Mike. He don’t like being woken up even when he’s not upset. Just … go to bed and we’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“I … I can’t go to sleep right now,” Mike said, anxious and miserable.

“Well, that’s your choice, but _I’m_ going back to sleep now, so shit or get off the pot, yeah?”

“Okay, okay. Sorry to wake you. I’m … gonna get a glass of milk and sit for a bit. It was a crazy night.”

“Tell us about it in the morning, ’kay?” Davy sighed, flopping back into his pillow.

“All right. G’night, Davy.”

“Mmmm, yeah, piss off,” Davy mumbled, already half gone again.

* * *

Mike wandered back downstairs and stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the door to Peter and Davy’s room. Knowing Micky was asleep in there. All he wanted to do was go in there and beg Micky’s forgiveness, but he knew Davy was right. Waking Micky up and trying to hash out their fight was a pretty terrible idea. But Mike also couldn’t bear the idea of going to bed without Micky and lying awake, wondering.

Finally, he made a decision. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest one, but he wanted to be as close to Micky as he could, so he grabbed a pillow and an old throw blanket from the sofa and sat against the wall outside the bedroom door. He put the pillow behind his head, draped the blanket over his legs and closed his eyes, almost sure he could hear Micky breathing on the other side of the door. And that would be enough for now.

* * *

Micky woke up in the middle of the night and needed to use the bathroom. Well, at least that was one benefit of crashing in the main floor bedroom that night. But it also reminded him of why he was sleeping there and felt another stab of pain in his heart over the altercation with Mike and Josiah. _They’re probably in bed together right now_, he thought miserably as he opened the door. _And I’m here alone and_ _—_

His thought was cut off as he tripped over something on the floor and fell into a heap. “Ow, what the heck …!”

“I’m sorry, Micky!”

The something on the floor was Mike. Micky sat up and looked blearily at the older boy who was sitting up against the wall right beside the bedroom door with a blanket tangled around his long legs. “Mike … what are you doing … were you _sleeping_ outside the door?”

Mike nodded. “I … didn’t wanna sleep in our room without you, but Davy said to leave you alone for the night because you were so mad and I don’t blame you, but I just wanted to be near you and I know it sounds real dumb, but —”

“Stop, stop,” Micky said tiredly, slowly getting to his feet, closing the door to the bedroom so they didn’t disturb Peter, and holding out his hand to Mike.

Mike looked at it and then grasped it, letting Micky help him to his feet, groaning as his stiff muscles protested.

“Micky, look, nothin’ happened, I swear. I just took him back to his motel room … Maxine found us and gave us a lift and she checked him out and cleaned the blood offa him and we put him to bed. And then Max drove me right back here. You can ask her yourself. I don’t love him … I don’t even _like_ him. But I couldn’t just leave him there … I’m so sorry I yelled at you. Please, Micky, I —”

Micky cut off Mike’s babbling with a kiss. Mike blinked and looked at him, cautiously relieved.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. You get undressed out here — and then you’ll sleep in Davy’s bed with me, okay? _Sleep_.”

“Okay, but Micky —”

“Shhhh,” Micky said. “It’s time for sleep, Mike. We’ll talk in the morning. I’m not so mad anymore. I’m … just really glad you came home.”

“I’ll always come home, Micky.”

Micky smiled a little and shuffled off to the bathroom. Mike started undressing and was down to his underwear when Micky came back. He took Mike by the hand and led him into the darkened bedroom where Peter snored softly. Micky crawled into the bed and held the covers open for Mike, who climbed in gratefully. Micky kissed him tenderly on the mouth and nudged him to turn away from Micky so he could spoon Mike, wrapping his arms around his body and pressing his own warm body up against Mike’s, nuzzling the nape of his neck. Mike was limp with relief and so happy to be held.

“Micky …” he whispered.

“Shhhh, baby. Go to sleep.”

“Okay, Mick. I … okay.”

* * *

Several hours later, when all three Monkees were still fast asleep in that same room, Cupid-Micky popped into being. He sighed happily at the sight of Micky and Mike curled up together in the small bed like two overgrown puppies. He had a brand-new quiver full of arrows and a mission. But he had to act fast before …

_pop_

Cupid-Micky made an _eep_ sound and flew to the opposite end of the room in case it was that nasty little devil back to thwart him again. But instead it was angel-Mike, who’d traded in his grubby old-fashioned robes for white jeans and a snug white Western shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His halo shone brightly and his wings once again pure white with all of the feathers restored.

“I been waitin’ for ya,” he said, nodding at Cupid-Micky.

Cupid-Micky cautiously fluttered closer. “I was meant to have done this sooner. I had some … technical difficulties.”

“We may have some more,” said angel-Mike. “S’why I’m here. He’ll be coming.”

“Oh, I can handle that devil this time.”

Angel-Mike shook his head. “Not him. You just get yourself ready to do what you gotta do. I’ll hold off the other guy.”

“Other guy?”

“Just hurry up!”

Before Cupid-Micky could even reach for his arrows there was a puff of black smoke and demon-Mike materialized directly in front of him. The cherub squeaked with alarm.

“You can’t have him,” he hissed. “No one can. He’ssssss mine. I’m all he’s ever had, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Oh, I am SO SICK of you, man!” Angel-Mike growled and swiftly flew up, inserting himself between the demon and the cherub, who cowered behind the angel, peeking out fearfully from behind his left wing.

“Apparently I didn’t bury you deep enough lasssst time. I managed to banish you when he turned ten and I made him forget all about you!”

“There ain’t enough dirt in the world to bury me now. He’s a grown man and he’s starting to know better. That he deserves better than what you’ve been givin’ him to work with. I can’t believe he’s done this well in spite of you.”

They began to tussle and angel-Mike began to glow brighter and brighter; the demon furrowed his brow, sensing a power better not confronted at that very moment and instead broke away and chased after Cupid-Micky, contenting himself with thwarting the cherub’s plan instead.

Angel-Micky and devil-Micky popped into being. “What is going on here?”

“Help!” Cupid-Micky squealed, flying in zig-zags, pursued by demon-Mike, and the angel hot on his trail.

“Oh no, you don’t,” growled devil-Micky. “No one hassles Hot Pants except for me!”

“Are we actually on the same side today? This is a miracle,” angel-Micky said, amazed.

They quickly flew to angel-Mike’s aid and the three of them surrounded and formed a protective barrier between the demon and the cherub. The demon hissed and began channelling his power at them in an attempt to break apart their shield.

“I had it handled,” angel-Mike grumbled, throwing another glowing ball of light at the demon and dodging one of his dark projectiles.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping him let people in!” angel-Micky chastised.

“Hmmf. I’m a little rusty. Been digging myself out of a damn hole for the last ten years.”

“Would you get a move on already!” hollered devil-Micky to the cherub.

Cupid-Micky stuck out his tongue at the devil before taking careful aim and sending a volley of tiny arrows. Which of course were not the regular, pointy sort of arrows. They showered Micky and Mike and there was a soft pink glow that surrounded them for a few moments before fading off. Cupid-Micky sighed dreamily and did a small victory backflip before vanishing.

Demon-Mike snarled with impotent rage and popped out of sight. The two angels and one devil heaved a sigh of relief.

“He ain’t gone for good,” said angel-Mike, mopping his brow, “but he’ll take some time to lick his wounds before coming back to mess with our boy again. And I’ll be waiting for him.”

And then there was a cough and a confused, sleepy sound as Peter slowly sat up and stared at them.

“Who’re you?” he asked softly. “I think I’ve seen you before?”

Alarmed, angel-Mike turned to his counterpart. “The heck? He can see us?”

Angel-Micky nodded. “Sometimes. Only sometimes. If we are putting out a great deal of energy like tonight. Peter is very special. His perception of reality is quite different from most others. We have to be careful when he’s around. Let me handle this.”

He fluttered over to Peter, who was staring at them through the dark with a soft, wonderous smile on his face. “It’s a dream, Peter. Just a dream. Like last time. Close your eyes and come fly with me. You loved that last time, remember?” Angel-Micky cast a soft glow from his hands and Peter’s eyelids began to droop. “Yes,” he murmured softly, easing back into his pillow. “Please, let’s go fly again.”

“He’s getting very good at it, actually,” said angel-Micky, shrugging, glancing back at angel-Mike. “Glad you’re back. Until next time.” He blinked out of sight.

That left angel-Mike and devil-Micky looking at each other.

“That was weird,” said angel-Mike. “Doesn’t Peter have … his own guys?”

Devil-Micky shook his head and lit up a cigarette. “Doesn’t need ’em. He’s like his own angel, and he’s literally too good for a devil. We sent some of our best guys and they all came back and had to spend some time in the sanitarium, recovering. Some day, my boss, Mr. Zero, is gonna take a crack at him. Until then, that kid is an utter mystery. Hi, I’m the fun one, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

Angel-Mike looked at him suspiciously then shook the proffered hand. “Everyone is fun after dealing with that nasty sumbitch you just saw. Thanks for pitchin’ in.”

“You may not want to thank me too much, but Mr. Romance can only be held back for so long. No use putting off the inevitable.”

“Well, my guy sure needs it.” Angel-Mike dusted off his hands and looked at the devil. “Say, you know anywhere good to get a drink around here? I been out of town a real long time.”

Devil-Micky grinned mischievously. “Oh, I like you already. Follow me!”

“Ain’t nothin’ like drinking with the devil. I like my work, but I don’t take it home with me,” Angel-Mike removed his halo, shrunk it down to the size of a pinky ring and slid it on his finger for safekeeping. “Lead the way, shotgun. I’ve been outta commission since Truman was in office and I’m damn _thirsty_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little angel/devil/cherub/demon side characters became a much bigger thing than I had originally planned. So now I'm in for a penny, in for a pound. They're kind of ridiculous but also super cute in my head. Especially the little Cupid-Micky and his red hot pants. Carry that little guy around in my pocket, he's so sweet.


	5. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long night is over and things seem to be looking up at the Pad. Declarations are made. Davy will likely regret loaning Micky his bed.

Peter woke up smiling. He’d had the flying dream again. It was his absolute favorite. Micky was always there with him, showing him how to do it. Micky always sported white wings and Peter never had wings, but he could fly anyway. He glanced over at the bed across the room, moments away from waking up his friend to tell him about the dream, but he saw Mike snuggled up with Micky in Davy’s bed and that made him smile more. It looked like they weren’t mad at each other anymore and that was very good. Peter simply couldn’t bear it when his friends got into arguments and fought. Everything was the very best when everyone was happy and feeling groovy together.

Micky had been so upset when he’d come home last night. Crying. He hardly ever cried. In fact, the only time Peter could remember was when Micky found out his childhood dog had died. He cried then. A lot. But otherwise he was one of the happiest people Peter knew and it had broken his heart to see him that way. He could tell Mike made Micky happy, but something had gone terribly wrong last night.

But things looked better now. At least Peter hoped so. He decided to get up and maybe go for a swim before starting breakfast. He’d promised Micky pancakes in the morning even though Micky had tried to tell him that he didn’t need to go to the trouble. Peter didn’t mind. He didn’t quite have all the ingredients but was pretty sure he could make the appropriate substitutions. Powdered milk could stand in for flour, right? He slipped out of bed, quietly rooted around for his swim trunks and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Peter had barely made any noise at all, but Mike stirred anyway. The sun was coming through the window at a different angle and he remembered he was in the downstairs bedroom. But Micky was still next to him, nestled up against his shoulder. Micky’s right hand rested on Mike’s bare chest and he smiled at the sight, until he noticed the swollen, abraded knuckles that were beginning to bruise.

“Oh, Micky,” he murmured. “What did you do?” Lord, those punches had been harder than he’d thought. Josiah was going to be feeling none too great today between the swollen nose and the hangover. Mike very gently inspected Micky’s hand, checking to see if his thumb was injured — if Micky had made the rookie mistake of not keeping his thumb on the outside of his fist. Face-punching 101. He was first and foremost concerned about Micky, but he’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t also a little concerned because a drummer with a messed-up hand was bad news for a band.

Micky made an unhappy sound, then stirred away, moaning. “Ow, owwwwWWW! Hey, what’s the big idea … oh.”

“Micky,” Mike said softly. “Your hand …”

“It really hurts,” Micky murmured, wincing. Last night he’d been so full of adrenaline after the fight that the pain hadn’t really registered yet. But it was all hitting him now.

Mike touched his cheek tenderly, then kissed him on the forehead. “You wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

“Noooo, don’t leave …”

Mike chuckled softly, slipping out of the bed. “I’ll be right back, I promise!”

Micky pouted at him anyway, cradling his injured hand against his chest. He was the same way when he got sick, too. Reverted from a nineteen-year-old to a nine-year-old in the blink of an eye.

Mike noticed that Peter’s bed was empty, and when he exited the bedroom and headed for the kitchen he saw the bass player striding down the beach toward the water in his red swim trunks, going for a dip. Mike poured a glass of water, then he grabbed the metal ice tray from the fridge and pulled the lever to crack it into cubes. He filled a dishtowel with the ice pieces before replacing the tray, then ducked into the bathroom to find the bottle of Aspirin.

He re-entered the bedroom. “C’mon, sit up for a sec, babe. Take some Aspirin for the pain. Then we’re gonna ice that hand. Doesn’t look like anything’s broken — and you did a number on Josiah’s nose, but he had that comin’ and he’ll know that once he’s sobered up this morning.”

Micky’s self-pitying pout lifted a little when presented with the notion that he had inflicted some damage to that jerk. He sat up, smiling a little, and accepted the water and Aspirin tablets from Mike. He swallowed them down along with a generous drink of water, then handed the glass back. Mike carefully inspected Micky’s left hand and saw that the damage wasn’t as bad, considering it wasn’t his dominant hand.

“Lie down on your left side there, Mick. Get comfy.”

“Will you come back and lie with me?”

“’Course I will.”

“’Kay.” Micky did as instructed, snuggling back into the bed and then Mike followed him and once they were settled, Mike arranged the makeshift ice pack over Micky’s knuckles. Micky hissed softly, but the sting was quickly replaced by the soothing chill of the ice.

Mike tenderly stroked Micky’s curls. “I’m sorry, Micky. Joe just … took me by surprise. I wasn’t even sure he was alive, let alone back from the war and tracking me down. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him about us. I could tell he was drunk when he came up to surprise me and then he was three sheets to the wind by the time I got back to his table. Boy was drinkin’ whiskey like it was water. We just about got kicked out of the club. And then he grabbed me and planted one on me. I didn’t want it at all. And I know you know that I could’ve handled him myself. But man … you stormed in there with guns blazin’ and you … you beat the stuffin’ outta him!”

Mike grinned at Micky, shaking his head in disbelief. “_You_, Micky! And you did it for me. Ain’t no one ever stood up for me like that before. I’m usually the one doin’ the clockin’ for other people.” Mike’s smile dimmed a little, but he forced himself to keep looking at Micky. “But I … it all happened so fast and I handled it all wrong. I’m sorry, Mick. Thank you for lookin’ out for me. I’m not … not used to someone takin’ care of me. And when someone tries, I sometimes feel like they’re tellin’ me I’m weak.”

Micky waited a moment to make sure Mike’s stream of babble had slowed. “Well, that’s … the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mike let out a gentle snort of a laugh. “I know.”

“You weren’t totally wrong, though,” Micky said, somewhat sheepishly. “He was very drunk. And he’s crippled. And I snuck up on him from behind. Not exactly the most honorable attack.”

Mike shrugged. “He … that night when all those guys beat me up. Joe sucker-punched me to take me down before the rest of the guys came in to pile on. So, maybe we’re even on that front now.”

Micky shook his head a little. “Now I don’t feel bad anymore. That piece of shit.” He let out a long breath through his nose. “But you did the right thing, Mike. You didn’t just leave him there on the ground. You did the honorable thing.” He looked up, his eyes fixing on Mike’s gaze. “Because you’re an honorable man. Such a groovy, good person, Mike. And … I really love you. I love you so much.” Then Micky’s expression went a little vulnerable and afraid, like the day he’d stripped naked and offered himself to Mike, all the while half-expecting to be rejected.

Mike looked at him, gobsmacked and then awed. He smiled shyly. “I … love you, too, Mick. I been in love with you for a long time now.”

The two boys stared at each other for a few moments, delighted and speechless by their declarations. Then Mike leaned in for a kiss and Micky kissed him back. Softly at first, then deeper, hungry and needy, Mike feasting on Micky’s mouth and running his hands over his body.

“Oh, Micky,” Mike groaned between kisses. “I want you … I need you … but your hands …”

“Screw my hands!” Micky gasped, flinging the dish towel away and sending melting ice cubes skittering across the floor.

“I was hopin’ to screw something other than your hands …” Mike grinned, struggling out of his shorts and tugging Micky’s pajama bottoms off.

Micky laughed, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs, inviting Mike in.

“The Vaseline is upstairs …”

“Just use spit … I’ll be okay. You’ve uh … worked me in pretty darn well by now.”

Mike shook his head with a rueful grin and spat a few times into his hand before rubbing it over his hard cock. And then he quickly lined himself up and entered Micky, who let out a deep moan, bending his knees and lifting his legs to let Mike in as deep as possible.

“Oh god, yeah. Do it … fuck me …”

Mike growled possessively and began to take Micky in long, hard thrusts. “I love you, Micky. I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby … please … you feel so good. Oh, god …”

They kissed deeply as Mike took Micky for his own once again, not even caring what Davy and Peter might overhear. He was in love and he was loved and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Cupid-Micky, devil-Micky, and angel-Mike were on Peter’s bed, idly watching the couple consummate their love. The cherub sighed dreamily. Devil-Micky rolled his eyes, but smiled a bit around his ever-present cigarette.

“Y’see, this is the time, Hot Pants. You wanna know what your problem is?”

“Mmmmm,” sighed Cupid-Micky, clearing not listening.

“You always show up too soon. Shooting your damn arrows off before people know their minds.”

Angel-Mike glanced over at the tiny devil. “Is that so? This musta been before I got back from … the dig.”

“You owe me a drink next time, compadre. I saved your boy from declaring his troth after getting his first hand job from my guy.”

Angel-Mike glared at the cherub. “For real? C’mon, man! That’s not cool.”

“When you know, you know,” breathed the cherub. “It’s my job to know. But no, _he_ had to destroy my entire inventory to make a point.”

Angel-Mike raised an eyebrow at the devil. “Is that so?”

“What? I had to act fast before Hot Pants over there shot his load.”

“Didn’t say I disagreed,” said Angel-Mike, shrugging. “So where was the other guy during all this?”

“Oh, him. He’s a figurehead, really. I’m the real brains behind this operation.”

_“I heard that!”_ Angel-Micky popped up and sputtered, getting tangled in the fringe of Peter’s chenille bedspread. “And that is not true! I also told Hot—Cupid that he was being a little … premature.”

“Know who’s not premature?” Angel-Mike drawled, angling his chin over at Mike. “My guy. Lookit him go, hoo-ee. I knew he had it in him. Just had to find the right person to take to bed.”

Devil-Micky wiped a tear from his eye. “Tis a thing of beauty, my friend.”

Angel-Micky sighed. “So, you two are thick as thieves, I see?”

“Hey, you and I hang out at the office now!” Angel-Mike retorted. “I think it’s helpful to keep an eye on the competition.”

“Speaking of competition …” the devil pointed at Micky and Mike as their cries and moans grew louder and then Micky was coming, trembling under Mike, who managed to hold on just a little bit longer before letting out a gasping groan and spending himself inside Micky.

Devil-Micky broke into a slow clap and then held up a placard with a number 10 emblazoned on it in bright red. Angel-Mike and the cherub held up similar signs. Angel-Micky held up one with a 9.

“Nine!” snapped Angel-Mike. “_Nine?_ Where do you get off, pal? That was a perfect ten if I ever saw one.”

“Can’t let him get overconfident or he’ll stop trying so hard,” angel-Micky sniffed self-righteously.

“You really hang out with this wet blanket at the office?” whispered devil-Micky.

The Texan angel shrugged. “He makes really good coffee. And he’s sure nice to look at.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Devil-Micky held up his head and smirked. “He’s pretty, but I am _sinfully_ handsome. You should come down and see me sometime. You already know I have a taste for things stronger than coffee.”

“Are you flirtin’ with me, devil-boy?”

“Took you long enough to notice.”

“Mmm, you are trouble. I like it.”

“Are _you_ flirting with me, halo-head?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Angel-Mike innocently, but he winked before he joined his angel colleague and the two of them popped away.

Devil-Micky leveled a lascivious look at the cherub, who was looking distinctly nervous upon realizing he was left alone with the devil. “So, Hot Pants, how about you gimme one of those arrows so I can do somethin’ about that grievous angel?”

Cupid-Micky squeaked and immediately popped away.

Devil-Micky shrugged and lit another cigarette with a flame from his finger. “Well, I had to ask.”


	6. Confession and Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet Sunday morning is interrupted by an uninvited guest. Some truths finally come to light. And Peter is still dealing with the sardine problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: non-graphic references to past incident of homophobic violence; homophobic slurs
> 
> Bitchy/protective Micky is my jam.
> 
> For all those who said they ship devil-Micky and angel-Mike ... there is a scene in here dedicated to you. Thank you for getting on board with my saucy little celestial beings.

Yawning, Davy made his way down the spiral staircase. He wondered if Mike had ever made it to bed that night or not. Davy had fallen back asleep after Mike had gone back downstairs, troubled by the notion of Micky sleeping in another room. But as he reached the main floor he heard the squeaking of bedsprings and low moans coming from his room. Then Micky whimpering Mike’s name.

“Well, at least they’re making up,” Davy muttered to himself. He spied Peter sitting out on the sun deck, still in his wet swim trunks, munching on a piece of toast while the sun and wind dried his golden hair. Davy saw a plate of still-warm buttered toast on the table and snagged a piece as he joined his friend outside.

“Lovebirds are back at it again,” he remarked, sitting down next to Peter.

“Yup,” Peter agreed around a mouthful of toast. “I decided to give them some privacy this morning. Mike slept outside our door until Micky finally took him in.”

“Aw, that’s sweet … waitaminute … those two are shagging _in my bed?_” Davy made a horrified expression as he realized what was happening.

Peter snorted. “You crashed in Micky’s bed last night. What do you suppose they get up to in _there_? And how often Micky bothers to change his sheets.”

“Ughhhhh!” Davy shuddered from head to toe and the two bites of toast he’d eaten threatened to come back up. Disgusted, he threw the rest of the bread over the deck for the seagulls to fight over. “That’s it … no more bed-swapping! Those two need to sort themselves out before bedtime from now on if they’re rowing.”

“Never go to bed angry,” Peter commented, nodding sagely.

“Don’t go away mad … just go away,” muttered Davy peevishly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell, man … it’s our house, too. I’m going back in there and give ‘em a piece of my mind.” He stood up and yanked the door open, heading back inside.

“I should get started on those pancakes,” Peter said mildly, following Davy back into the Pad.

* * *

The bedroom door finally opened and Micky came out first, in his pajamas and beaming from ear to ear. Mike followed, a little sheepish because he was still in only his underwear. He quickly grabbed his discarded clothes off the floor from the previous night and hustled upstairs.

Davy sat with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Micky.

“What?” exclaimed Micky. “What’s that look for … oh. Yeah. Heh.” He had the grace to look at least a little bit embarrassed. “Well, it’s about time to do a wash anyway. I’ll, uh, take your sheets in for ya today, Davy. Be nice to see April, at least.”

“Thank you,” Davy said, still glaring. “And from now on … shag in your own beds in your own room, all right? I’m still deciding whether I want to burn the bloody mattress!”

Micky rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic. Did you take a close look at my sheets? Because I —”

Davy held up a hand. “Just stop right there. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I already told him, anyway,” Peter chimed in cheerfully.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Davy grumbled, heading for the bathroom. “Maybe two in case the first one doesn’t take.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Micky was the closest and peeked out the small window to see who it was. He groaned. “You have got to be kidding me …”

“Who is it?” asked Davy, hovering in the doorway of the bathroom.

“It’s him. Josiah.” Micky sighed and opened the door. “You have some nerve showing up here, man.”

Davy and Peter quickly flanked Micky, both to be there for backup in case things got ugly again, but also out of curiosity.

Josiah leaned on his cane and held up his free hand, making the peace sign. “I’m not here to start any trouble. I just wanted to apologize. To both of you. Is Mike in?”

At the sound of Josiah’s voice, Mike appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing his jeans now, but holding his shirt in his hands. Micky saw Josiah’s eyes rove over Mike’s naked torso and he felt himself clench his aching hands as jealousy burned. But he forced himself to take a breath and mentally step back. Micky reminded himself that less than fifteen minutes ago Mike had been naked and buried inside Micky. Moaning his name. Telling Micky how much he loved him. Mike’s hair was still mussed and his cheeks were flushed from their lovemaking. Micky could feel his spunk dripping out of him and knew his hair was a mess as well. Micky knew he had nothing to worry about. _Let him look … it’s all he’s gonna get to do._

“What’re you doin’ here, Joe?” Mike said, slipping his shirt on as he descended the stairs. “Ain’t you caused enough trouble already? How’d you find the address to … oh, lemme guess … Chuck. Did he give you my social security number, too?”

“May I come in?” Josiah asked. He wasn’t looking too hot. His nose was horribly swollen and his right eye was blackened.

The other three Monkees looked at Mike. Mike shrugged. “All right. If you insist.”

Micky, Davy, and Peter stepped aside to let Josiah in.

Mike finished buttoning up his shirt as he got to the bottom of the stairs. He walked up and slipped his arm possessively around Micky. He was making a statement. Micky glanced up at Mike — he’d never held him in front any other people before. Not even Davy and Peter.

“You shouldn’t’ve kissed me like that last night, Joe. This is … Micky is … well, he’s my fella, y’see. Took me a long time to find him. And I only wanna kiss him.”

Micky blushed and smiled happily. _I’m his fella!_

Josiah nodded. “I know, Mike. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For how I acted last night. I was a drunk horse’s ass. And I deserved to get the tar beaten outta me.” He looked at Micky. “I’m sorry, Micky.”

Micky shrugged, unsure of what to do with Josiah’s apology. “I … I shouldn’t have come at you from behind. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just …”

“Saw me kissing your guy,” Josiah said. “Yeah. I probably woulda sucker-punched me if I were you.”

“Yeah, that’s somethin’ you’re good at,” Mike muttered.

Josiah’s face reddened and he looked at Mike. “I know, Mike. You’ll probably never know how sorry I am for all that. For everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but I just … needed to tell you that I feel real bad about last night. Thank your friend Maxine for me again. And, uh, I’ll just be on my way …”

Micky levelled a look at Josiah. “Actually … while you’re here. I’d like to have a word with you. In private.”

Everyone looked at Micky in confusion.

“Micky … why … what for?” asked Mike.

Micky looked at Mike and suddenly he knew it was just something he had to let Micky do. This was a side of Micky he hadn’t seen much of until they had become physically and emotionally involved and he was still getting used to it. When Micky just seemed to know when something needed to be done and Mike would just have to trust him on it. When Micky was trying to take care of him. And Mike was slowly learning how to let him. It wasn’t easy.

Mike nodded at him.

“Sure, Micky,” said Josiah, suddenly eager to please, as if perhaps this was a chance to make up for his mistakes.

Micky turned his gaze to Josiah, now considerably cooler than the loving look he’d given Mike. “We’ll talk out on the sun deck. But first I’m going to go and get dressed. I’m not doing this in my pajamas.”

Davy glared at Josiah. “’Ere, it’s just this way …” he said coldly, moving to show the blond to the door to the deck. He didn’t know exactly where this bloke was at, but as far as Davy knew he’d hurt Mike in the past and had been the reason why Micky was so upset the previous night, and that was more than enough reason for Davy to intensely dislike him.

Micky nodded and went upstairs.

Even though Mike felt somewhat reassured, he was still baffled as to why Micky wanted to talk to Josiah … and why Mike wasn’t invited to the conversation. He sat on the sofa and fidgeted nervously. Peter sat next to him, unsure of what to say, but knowing that just being there was enough. Davy kept a wary eye on the ex-soldier sitting outside.

Micky came downstairs a few minutes later, now fully dressed. He stood in front of Mike and smiled gently at him before reaching down and cradling his worried face between his bruised hands. “It’s okay, Mike,” he said softly. “It’s all going to be just fine. You trust me, right?”

Mike nodded and then Micky lowered his head to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“Micky …” Mike whispered, blushing, both touched by the gesture and flustered that Micky had kissed him in front of Peter and Davy.

Peter just smiled. “You guys are … so groovy together.”

Davy gave a little smile and nodded in agreement.

Micky released Mike and squeezed Peter’s shoulder affectionately, wincing upon remembering his sore right hand. “Thanks, Pete. This won’t take too long. I just have a few things I need to sort out with Joe out there.”

Davy clapped him on the shoulder as Micky opened the door to the deck. “We’re right here, mate. If you need any backup.”

“Thanks, Davy. But I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“Mick, I will _flatten_ him if he tries a thing.”

* * *

Micky stepped outside onto the deck that ran along the back of the Pad. He took a deep breath of the salty ocean air and straightened his posture, walking over to Josiah who sat in one of the chairs, his cane propped up against the wall.

Micky sat in the chair next to the blond man, looking out over the ocean. He was silent for a few moments, thinking.

Josiah was nervous and started babbling. “Hey, look, I’m really sorry, again, Micky. No hard feelings. I had those punches comin’. I was bein’ a real —”

“I want you to tell me what happened that night,” Micky interrupted, his voice calm.

“Huh? What night … do you mean …”

“Yeah. I want you to tell me what you guys — what you — did to him.”

“… I thought you knew …”

Micky shrugged. “I got the _Dragnet_ version. ‘Just the facts, ma’am.’ I want to know exactly what happened. Have you ever told anyone? Ever? Don’t imagine it’s the kind of thing you brag about.”

Josiah flinched, then stared at his feet. “Just one. A guy in my platoon. We were … close. I told him once. We were talking about things we’d done that we regretted. Things we thought we might burn for. He’s dead now.”

Micky read between the lines. “I’m really sorry to hear that, man. I am. But the guy I’m close to is still alive.” He looked at Josiah until the blond man met his gaze, his blue eyes reddened and bleary. “And you broke him,” Micky finished softly. “We’re trying to put him back together and it would help to know the details. In case you think I’m asking you because I get off on hearing about violence … especially against the people I care about.”

Josiah visibly squirmed in his seat. “I’m sure Mike told you enough …”

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?” Micky asked sarcastically. “Oh, gee, I’m awfully sorry. Is it hard talking about betraying your friends and hurting them? Mike just told me that he got tricked by a guy he considered a friend. A guy he had feelings for and who he thought felt the same way. That he was set up and ambushed and left for dead in the bushes.”

Josiah flinched, then shook his head. “Naw, naw … we didn’t leave him for dead, man. I swear … I —”

“How did you _know_?” Micky snapped. “Huh? You were all soused and you were six against one. Big, brave guys, huh? You just _left him_ … didn’t even check to see if he could get up and walk himself outta there! He could have died if he hadn’t been able to drag himself home somehow. He told me he doesn’t even remember how he got home.”

Josiah hung his head. “Fuck …” he whispered.

“So tell me,” said Micky. “Tell me what happened. Because I won’t make Mike relive the pain by giving me the details. I’m gonna make it hurt for you instead. Don’t you think you owe us that much?”

Josiah nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Micky.”

“Josiah, the first time I tried to touch him … romantically … he flipped out and nearly caved my head in. And not because he didn’t want me to touch him … he wanted it so much … he _needed_ it so much, but he was terrified that I was playing a trick on him. That I was setting him up. That’s fucked up, man. You did that to him. You can’t undo it, but you can help me help him.”

Josiah stared miserably off into the middle distance. “I’d give anything to take it all back. If I’d just kept my fool mouth shut. But Nesmith scared me to death. I couldn’t think straight when I was around him. He would look at me and I’d want to kiss him and kill him at the same time. I loved him and I hated him for making me feel so damn mixed up.”

Micky nodded a little. He could kind of identify with that, though it wasn’t so extreme. He’d been far more accepting of his changing feelings for Mike. It had felt like a warm breeze sweeping over him. But sometimes for other people that kind of change felt like falling off a cliff. And they’d clutch at anything on their way down to break the fall.

Josiah closed his eyes for a moment. His face was flushed with shame and embarrassment. “I told the guys somethin’ Mike had said to me when we were drunk that I should’ve kept to myself. He sorta came on to me and I got scared. Scared because I wanted it. I really wanted him. And that was … I just couldn’t handle that. That was not the person I was supposed to be. The boy my pa raised. So I did the first thing I could think of to make it go away. I told the boys what Mike said to me and they said they’d beat the faggotry right outta him. I think maybe in a way I hoped it would somehow work for me, too.”

Micky cringed at the language. At the idea that Mike had once been brave enough to make a move on Josiah and that was what he got in return.

“We cooked up the plan before we started drinkin’ that night,” Josiah continued. “Mike came to the party and the boys started pourin’ liquor down his throat. Being real pally with him. Getting his guard down. And then I took him outside, about a block away … to this abandoned house …” Josiah let out a shaky breath through his nose, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Go on,” Micky said, his voice hard. “What did you do then, Josiah? Tell me what you did to Mike.”

“I … pushed him up against the wall of the shed out there. It was quiet and private. Mike thought … he thought we were gonna finally fool around. He tried to kiss me. I figured he’d do that and instead I made him get down on his knees and told him he could suck me off instead.”

Micky closed his eyes for a moment, his expression stricken, also remembering the first time he’d asked Mike to give him head. The exact words he used. And how Mike had frozen up for a few moments. Just … gone away in his head like he did sometimes when he was remembering something painful.

“I made him ask for it. Almost beg for it. Loud enough so the guys could hear. So they’d know I wasn’t making it all up. So they wouldn’t think … I was like him. They were hiding in the bushes. And then … yeah, then I hit him across the face. Took him down and all the guys came out and started kicking and punching him on the ground.”

“You son of a bitch,” Micky snarled. He was clutching at the arms of the chair until the pain in his hands reminded him to stop.

Josiah let out a choked sob. “I know, man. I know. It was dirty, dirty pool. Cowardly. It’s the worst thing I ever done. At least it was before I went to ’Nam. But after that I couldn’t do much. Tried to make a show of cheering the guys on, but I couldn’t … hurt him any more than I already had.”

“Oh, _bravo_,” sneered Micky.

Josiah bit his lip.

Micky watched him keenly. “Oh my god, Josiah, is there more? What else did you bastards do to him?”

“Nothin’ else!” Josiah said plaintively. “I swear. Somethin’ else almost happened, but we didn’t go through with it. Thank god. I don’t think … I couldn’t have been able to … he told me we woulda had to kill him if we tried …”

“What? What were you thinking of doing? Did you threaten him with something?” Micky tried to keep his voice down so it wouldn’t carry into the Pad. Didn’t want Mike to hear how upset he was. But he wanted to scream.

“It don’t matter!” said Josiah, tears starting to run down his face. “It didn’t happen, so it don’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” said Micky. “And Davy and Peter. It matters to us. _Mike_ matters to us.”

Now it was Josiah’s turned to close his eyes for a moment in pain. “We … some of the guys … Randy, really … thought we should teach him a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson,” said Micky quietly, feeling suddenly queasy.

“Like … if he wanted cock so bad, maybe we oughta give it to him. All of us.”

Micky was up out of his chair and he grabbed Josiah by the front of his shirt, not caring when his injured hand protested. “I swear to god, if any of you laid a hand on him like that …”

“We didn’t! I swear!” Josiah sobbed. “I kept sayin’ ‘This is dumb, guys. He’s got the message. Let’s just go back to the party before the girls miss us too much. Let’s just go.’ And eventually they listened to me. Especially after I said that dickin’ him would make us just as deviant as he was.”

Micky released Josiah’s shirt in disgust and pushed him back into his chair. He heard a sharp rap on the glass and muffled yelling and saw Davy holding up his hands in a “what the hell is going on?” gesture. Peter was desperately holding Mike back from barging out onto the deck. Mike’s eyes bored into Micky’s, wild and panic-stricken.

_It’s okay_, Micky mouthed, holding up his hands. _It’s okay_. Mike stared at him, not in anger, but frustrated confusion, his chest heaving. This time Micky knew Mike was on the verge of bursting out there to look after him, not Josiah.

* * *

After Micky had gone out and started talking to Josiah, Davy looked hard at Mike. “Mike … what the hell is going on with Josiah? Last night, Micky said this bloke was involved in something bad that happened to you back home, but that’s all he’d tell me. Mate, I know you have a right to your secrets, but this is affecting all of us now. Please tell us what happened. Or at least give us an idea. Me ’n’ Pete are in the dark here.”

Peter nodded silently, looking expectantly at Mike.

Mike was quiet for a moment, then nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right, Davy. It was … something I thought I’d put behind me, but sometimes things have a way of comin’ back around when you don't expect ’em to.”

Mike sat down at the kitchen table with the other two Monkees and started to talk. He talked for a long time. And when he stopped talking, Peter’s eyes were wet with tears and Davy was fit to be tied.

“I’d like to go out there and wreck his other leg!” the Brit growled. “I’m glad Micky rearranged his face. I wish he’d done more of it!”

“It was a long time ago and I know he regrets it,” Mike said softly. “Don’t mean I’ve forgiven him, but I know he wishes he could take it all back. Do things differently.”

“Yeah, well, he needs to live with what he’s done and leave you out of it, man. He really had some nerve showing up here.”

“He wanted to apologize,” said Peter, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I think that’s nice. He’s sorry for what he's done.”

“You’re too … too nice, Peter,” Davy grumbled.

Peter smiled. “I don't think there’s such a thing, Davy.”

“I just wish I knew what in hell they’re talkin' about out there — whoah now, MICKY!” Mike lurched to his feet, knocking his chair over as he saw Micky, his usually kind, smiling face twisted with loathing as he stood up and grabbed Josiah by the front of the shirt, yelling something at him that none of them could quite make out through the glass. Mike made for the door, but Peter caught him around the chest. “Don’t, Mike ...”

“Give it a moment,” said Davy, watching keenly out the window to see if things were going to escalate, but Micky eased off, releasing Josiah and mouthing “It’s okay” at them.

“What the ever-lovin’ hell is goin’ on out there? What are they talkin’ about?” Mike exclaimed, tense and unhappy, but not trying to break away from Peter’s grasp.

“Let ’em talk,” Davy said. “Whatever Micky’s got on his mind, he needs to get it out of his system. C’mon … it’s weird to keep watchin’ ’em like this. You wanna play cards or somethin’?”

Peter released Mike, who remained staring out the window at the backs of Micky’s and Josiah’s heads, arms crossed over his chest. “Naw, I’m just fine here, Davy.”

Davy sighed. “All right, man. All right.”

* * *

Micky stalked back to his chair and sat down heavily. “You disgust me,” he said, words dripping with loathing.

“I disgust myself. I was a piece of shit to him. I was a piece of shit in general.” Josiah stared out at the ocean, watching the seagulls swooping and diving.

They were silent for several moments before Josiah said, hesitantly, “You … you really love him, don’t you?”

Micky nodded, his mouth pinched. “Yeah, I do. I’ve loved him for a long time. But only just recently realized that I’m _in_ love with him.”

“He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. Would give you the shirt off his back. In fact, he actually did that a few times. Even when he probably couldn’t afford another shirt. I took him for granted. And, like I said, he scared me to death.”

“I can’t pretend to get that,” said Micky. “I didn’t grow up the way you fellas did. It’s not like guys can walk around here holding hands in public or nothin’, but it’s … less strict.”

“It’s not even about strict,” Joe murmured. “It’s about life and death.”

“And you were willing to sacrifice Mike to save your ass.”

“I don’t think you understand, Micky …” said Josiah. “Would you give up _everything_ for him? Every single damn thing? If you had to choose _right now_? Your friends, your parents, your siblings — hell, all of your family. Give up school, give up your dreams for your future? I was eighteen years old and didn’t know a goddamn thing about the world or myself. All I knew was what my pa had told me — about what kind of man I was going to be and what my future was going to look like. Right down to the kind of job I was going to have and the kind of girl I was gonna marry and how many sons we were gonna make for him. I come from a … powerful family, Micky. Pa had us all under his thumb. He paid for everything. I did what I was told. I didn’t know no better. He told me to go and fight the Commies, so I went. And when I came back with a wrecked leg, long hair, and ‘hippie-faggot notions,’ he threw me out of the house.”

Micky was quiet for a long time.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Josiah softly, but quickly kept talking before Micky could retort. “I know, man. I screwed up. A lot. If I hadn’t said anything about what Mike had said to me, none of this would have happened. But sometimes you open your mouth and the wrong thing comes out. And sometimes that wrong thing gets people hurt real bad.”

Micky looked at Josiah, then looked away. “Yeah … I get that,” he conceded reluctantly. “You don’t know me at all, but I’m not usually all serious like this. Mike’s the heavy one … I’m usually bouncing off the walls and shooting my mouth off.”

“He needs someone like that,” Josiah said. “He gets all up in his head and need someone to tell him to lighten up a bit.”

Micky glanced at the blond. “He also needs someone to look after him. And don’t try and make me like you. What you did was unforgivable. I can never get over that. But … I guess I can see why Mike used to like you.” Micky took a breath and asked, “Do you love him?”

“Yeah. I’ve loved him … since the day I met him.”

“If you really love him, then you know what you gotta do.”

Josiah fell silent.

Micky forced himself to look at the other man again. “You know it, Josiah. You’re not good enough for him. You never were. Hell, I don’t even know if _I’m_ good enough for him. But I’m trying my best. I really wanna be worthy of someone like him. You already had your chance and you blew it. And you need to accept that and leave him alone. Go back to whatever fleabag motel he dragged your ass to last night, pack up your stuff, and leave town. And don’t come back.”

Josiah looked at Micky, stricken. “But —”

“If you love him, then this is what you need to do,” Micky repeated firmly, not giving Josiah a chance to argue. “I’m trying to make him happy. I think I’m making him happy. Making him believe he deserves to be happy. To be loved and protected. Just like anyone else. And I can’t do that if you’re hanging around here, making him relive one the worst times of his life over and over again. As long as you’re here, he’ll worry about takin’ care of _you_. And … he doesn’t seem to know this yet, but I saw it right away. You came here looking for him to take care of you. But it’s too late. You see that, right? You can’t do that to him. If you really love him, you _won’t_ do that to him.”

Josiah nodded miserably.

“You don’t have to go back to Texas, but, man, you can’t hang around here,” said Micky, his tone softened. “This is … is our place. Mike’s place. You guys drove him out of Dallas and he landed here with ten bucks to his name and not a friend in the world. And he worked real hard and I still don’t know what he went through in those early days. He keeps all that stuff real private. I know he lived in his car for a while. I saw a few snapshots of him when he was doing some early solo gigs and he was way skinnier than he is now if you can believe it. But by the time he put out an ad looking for a band, he was doin’ all right. Had a little pad of his own and a day job and some steady gigs. But he made something of himself here and that belongs to him. You gotta … find your own way, man. You dig?”

Josiah nodded, but he looked utterly hopeless.

Micky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was torn. The part of him enraged over what Josiah had done to Mike was being swamped by how scared and lost the ex-soldier looked now. And by the dawning realization that Josiah had nowhere to go. He’d been rejected by his family and had desperately traveled to California in search of the one person he thought might want him around. And Micky knew that Mike would help Josiah if he stuck around Malibu. Even if it hurt him. Even if it hurt him and Micky. And the Monkees. And everything Mike had worked for. Because that was Mike. And it was one of the many reasons why Micky loved Mike so much. Even after how much Josiah had hurt Mike, he’d still want to help him because it was clear that Josiah had changed. He wanted to be different person — the person he wanted and needed to be — even if it meant losing his family and everything he’d ever known. And Micky couldn’t begrudge him that. So he dug deep into himself to try to find a solution. And then … maybe he had something.

“Hey, look, man,” Micky said softly. “You got a car? You can drive with that bum leg?”

“Yeah. I’m all right for that now. It’s parked out front. It’s one of the few things my old man let me leave with.”

“I ask because you might have trouble thumbing a ride after what I did to your face. But I got some friends up in San Francisco. It’s a real groovy scene there right now. Great music. Real open-minded, if you get my meaning. I can make a call. Probably get you a place to crash for a little while. Until you figure out what you wanna do next.”

Josiah’s jaw dropped. He stared at Micky. “No kiddin’? You’d … you’d do that for me, Micky? After everything?”

“I’d be doing it for Mike. And for me. And then maybe you. I need you to not be in Malibu anymore, but Mike would be unhappy if he knew I gave you the bum’s rush like you did to him. He’s … annoyingly principled.”

Josiah chuckled and Micky saw his smile for the first time. “No foolin’.”

“People change. Maybe Mike’s right and you have. Don’t make me regret this, okay? Don’t be an asshole to my friends. They’re real good people. They’ll take care of you if you let ’em. As long as you’re okay with long-haired hippie weirdos.”

Josiah nodded vigorously, still smiling, but his eyes getting a little wet again. “I’m pretty much one of them now. I was reminded of that last night.”

“Don’t do that,” said Micky gently upon seeing Josiah tear up. “Mike’s all tense about this entire thing to begin with. Let’s go inside and tell him the plan, okay? And you need to tell Mike about what happened with you and your dad. Why you’re not going home.”

“Okay, Micky. Thank you, Micky. Thank you so much. I … didn’t know what I was gonna do. I’m pretty scared about what happens next. I know I gotta start figuring out my own life and stop letting other people tell me who I gotta be.”

Micky smiled a little and nodded. He stood up and reached out his hand to Josiah, who grasped it and let Micky help pull him to his feet. Micky handed him his cane and from his peripheral vision he saw Mike watching them through the window, his posture tense, arms crossed over his chest. Micky offered him a warm smile and a reassuring nod, and he saw Mike visibly relax and he smiled hesitantly back at Micky.

Micky and Josiah stepped back into the Pad and Mike was by Micky’s side immediately, taking Micky’s injured hand in both of his, then raising it up and pressing a tender kiss to it, in front of the other Monkees and Josiah and all, and Micky beamed with happiness. Then Mike slipped an arm around Micky again, tugging him close.

“Y’alright, you two?” Mike asked softly.

Micky nodded. “Yeah. We’re all right. We, uh … cleared the air a bit, I guess. Um, I’m going make a call. Josiah is going to drive to San Francisco and crash with my friends for a while. You remember Cathy and Paul and Ginny and Dan? They have that ‘open house’ up there. See if they have room to take in Josiah. They always seem to have room for people who need it.”

Mike nodded, at a loss for words for a moment. “That’s … real decent of ya, Mick. But … why? I don’t get it …”

“More than decent,” said Josiah softly. “I’m … my mind is blown.” He looked up at Mike and nodded. “Your fella … he’s something special. You hold on to him, okay? I won’t be any more trouble for you, Mike. I’m going to go and figure out what’s next for me. I’ll be okay.”

Micky had located where the red telephone was situated on that particular day — even the disembodied hand took days off — and sat down to call his friends. Mike looked at him and felt his heart swell. “Don’t I know it. He’s … everything, man. And I know you’ll pull it together. But why are you going to stay in San Francisco? I though you were on a big road trip.”

“That wasn’t totally true, Mike. Can I sit down? I’ll tell you all about it. What went down at home … with my pa after I came back from Vietnam.”

“All right, um, you wanna cuppa joe … Joe?” Mike tried for a light joke.

Josiah rolled his eyes as he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Lord, Nesmith, you still like to pull out the clunkers, huh? But yeah … I could really use a cup.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Peter eagerly.

Josiah shrugged. “I could eat.”

“It’s called Sardine Surprise! It’s much better than Sardine Soufflé, which I tried to make last week. Didn’t go so well.”

“The surprise is that it’s horrible,” said Davy. “Which actually isn’t much of a surprise at all.”

“You’re better off with his cream of root beer soup, to be honest,” said Mike.

“Cream of what now?”

* * *

While Josiah explained his family situation to Mike, he politely tried some of Peter’s Sardine Surprise, then politely turned green and asked to use the bathroom. Micky got off the phone and wrote down an address for Josiah on a scrap of paper that Josiah tucked into his pocket when he got back from getting the Surprise out of his system.

“I’m real sorry to hear about what happened at home with your pa,” Mike said quietly. “That’s a rotten deal, man.”

Josiah shrugged. “It’s time I stood on my own two feet. Maybe I’ll make a success of myself and he’ll come around. Or maybe I won’t even care by then. Maybe it’s his loss in the end.”

“Well … don’t be a stranger, okay?” Mike said softly. “We’re just down the coast. Practically neighbors.”

“What’s seven hours between neighbors?” Micky quipped.

Josiah grinned and extended a hand to Micky, who shook it. “You got a helluva right hook, Micky. Maybe boxing is in your future if the music thing doesn’t pan out.”

Micky chuckled softly. “You were the subject of a one-time show, pal. Violence ain’t my bag at all, usually.”

“Glad to be the exception, then? And thanks again for helping me … when you really had no reason to,” Josiah said, then turned to Mike. Mike paused for a moment, then opened his arms, inviting Josiah in for a hug. Josiah made a sound and embraced Mike, thumping him on the back and hugging him tightly. “Thanks, man. I’m sorry. For everything. I mean it.”

“You take care of yourself, Josiah, okay? And I mean … better than you have been doin’ so far.”

“I’ll try my best. I want to.” Josiah released Mike and turned to Davy and Peter. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Peter accepted a handshake, but Davy kept his arms crossed over his chest and just gave the blond a sharp nod.

Micky opened the door and Josiah hobbled out, giving the Monkees a small wave as he did so. And, to Mike, “S’long, Bobby.”

“S’long, Joe.”

They were quiet until they heard the car start up and pull away. And then Micky let out a great sigh before everyone started talking at once.

* * *

Angel-Micky watched over the proceedings with satisfaction. He turned to comment to angel-Mike, but he was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen him or devil-Micky for a little while. Those two had been getting awfully chummy.

Cupid-Micky popped up and smiled at the angel, then nodded in the direction of a slightly ajar cupboard door in the kitchen. Angel-Micky furrowed his brow, then flew over to the cupboard and opened the door. “Oh! Oh, dear!”

Devil-Micky had angel-Mike pressed up against the wall of the cupboard as they kissed passionately, the angel’s wings making soft thumping noises against the wall. When the door opened, they were slow to realize they had company, but then devil-Micky broke the kiss and slowly turned his head, smiling, licking his lips. Panting, confused, angel-Mike blinked in the light, then a loopy grin spread over his face. “Well, uh, hullo there.”

“What … what are you _doing_?” Angel-Micky exclaimed.

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Devil-Micky smirked, then buried his face in angel-Mike’s neck, who gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“You ... YOU CAN’T MAKE OUT WITH A DEVIL!” Angel-Micky blurted out.

“Yet here we are …” Angel-Mike grinned mischievously, burying a hand in the devil’s curly hair, wrapping a hand around one of his horns as devil-Micky continued to assault his pale neck.

“You … you … I’ll report you!” Angel-Micky exclaimed.

“No, you won't,” said devil-Micky, raising his head from the angel’s delectable neck to lick into his mouth a few more times as angel-Micky fumed.

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?” he snapped.

“Because I like him,” devil-Micky said, plucking open the white pearl buttons on angel-Mike’s shirt and licking down his chest as he did so, causing the other angel to moan in a rather obscene manner, completely mesmerized. “And he’ll surely be distracting me from my work and wouldn’t that make life so much easier for you? Keeping our unruly boy on the straight and narrow.”

Angel-Micky deliberated on this for a moment. “You make a good point …”

“I always do. Now either join in or close the door because I’m about to have my way with this pretty lil’ angel and tarnish that halo of his.”

Angel-Mike grinned, his eyes heavy-lidded, nearly drugged with desire, but managed a knowing wink at angel-Micky before leaning in to flick his tongue against the devil’s smirking mouth.

“Oh, you are just about my favourite thing right now,” the devil purred, pulling him close as the angel’s wings fluttered excitedly.

When devil-Micky went to shove a hand down into angel-Mike’s tight white Levis, angel-Micky slammed the door shut and wrung his hands anxiously for a few moments.

“I think that’s what they call ‘taking one for the team,’” whispered Cupid-Micky, who’d materialized by angel-Micky’s side.

Angel-Micky snorted. “You think he’s doing this for our good?”

The cherub shrugged, glancing quickly at his quiver to be sure it wasn’t horribly apparent that one of his arrows was missing. “Maybe it’s going to benefit more than a few of us …”

Angel-Micky gaped at him, realizing what he’d done. “You …!”

The cherub shrugged innocently. “I don’t shoot anyone who doesn’t want to be shot. That’s how it works. So … maybe just enjoy the break?”

“What’re you going to do now, then?”

Cupid-Micky sighed. “Reassignment … to Davy.”

Angel-Micky gasped. “No! That’s the worst job there is! The work is endless!”

“I will succeed where many have fallen,” Cupid-Micky determined. “It’s the challenge of my career.” And then he glowed a deep pink and flashed and when he came into focus again, he looked like a miniature Davy Jones. “Ah, there we are. Oh, what a lovely accent I ’ave now!”

Angel-Micky shook his head. “The kid’s gonna wear you ragged. I’ve never seen someone who falls in love so fast and frequently.”

Cupid-Davy shrugged. “Well, someone’s gotta do it! Wish me luck!” He gave a toothy grin and popped out of sight.

Angel-Micky glanced over at the cabinet, which was starting to rattle. He shook his head and sighed. “It’s turning out to be a very, very strange day. I don’t think I want to be here to see those two … finish. Back to the office, then.” And then he popped off as well.

* * *

Peter was distracted by a noise as the Monkees were talking about everything that had happened that morning since Josiah arrived. He looked across the room and saw a kitchen cupboard rattling on its hinges.

“Davy …” Peter murmured. But Davy was busy talking and didn’t hear him.

There was another sound coming from inside the cupboard. It sounded like a bird was trapped inside and flapping its wings to escape.

“Micky …” Peter said, a little louder, but Micky was on a riff and didn’t notice Peter speaking to him.

Peter scratched his head and frowned as the rattling and flapping grew louder. And then, suddenly, brilliant light began to spill out from around the door.

“Mike … Mike!” Peter exclaimed, alarmed. “Mike … do you see that?”

Mike was in the middle of laughing at a joke Micky had made, but turned when Peter started poking him in the arm. “Mike … Mike … the cupboard … there’s something in the cupboard!”

“Peter, that was just a fib Micky told. There’s no rat in the cupboard. Never was …”

“But-but …” Peter gaped at Mike. How did no one else hear or see what was happening in the kitchen? The light went blindingly bright and then Peter heard a burst of choral music and the sound of a harp … and then nothing. The light was gone and the cupboard was still. Peter stood up and quietly crossed into the kitchen. He gingerly opened the cupboard, but it was empty … save for a few scattered, tiny white feathers.

“Peter, what’re ya doin’ over there?” Mike called out. “I told ya, there ain’t no rat!”

“No rat … but there was something …” Peter murmured to himself.

* * *

Angel-Mike and Devil-Micky were reclining on a cloud in the sky far above the Pad. They were each smoking a cigarette. The angel’s halo hung lopsided over his head and their clothes were askew.

“Well … that was a helluva thing.” Angel-Mike sighed contentedly.

“Mmmm. Aptly put,” said devil-Micky, blowing a smoke rings inside of one another so they resembled a target.

Angel-Mike pointed his thumb and forefinger like a gun and went “Pew!” scattering the smoke away.

The devil chuckled and looked down. “I ain’t never been this high before.”

The angel smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna go higher?”

Devil-Micky smirked back. “Gimme five minutes and you’re on, sexy.”

“You ain’t never gonna wanna go all the way back down there again.”

“Now, don’t try to change me, baby.”

* * *

Finally, Mike turned to Micky. “Mick … what did you talk to Joe about, huh?”

Mike looked at Mike, then stood up from the table and held out his hand. Mike looked at him questioningly, but stood up and took the offered hand. Micky led Mike to the staircase and up into their room. He closed the door and sat on his bed. Mike sat next to him.

“Mike, I asked Josiah to tell me what happened that night they attacked you.”

Mike’s brow furrowed. “You … what?”

“I made him tell me. In detail. Because I think I needed to know, but also because I knew it would hurt him to do it. To remember and explain it to me. I told you I’d find a way to get back at those guys. Well, one of them, at least.”

Mike looked extremely vulnerable and Micky squeezed his hand. “You know you’re safe with me, Mike. And what happened to you … that’s safe with me, too. I just … I love you and I want to take care of you and I just needed to know. And I didn’t want to put you through that.”

“I told Davy and Peter,” said Mike quietly. “While you were out there. Not in … great detail or nothin’, but they wanted to know why Josiah was stirring up all this trouble and I realized it was affecting them, too. All of us. So I told ’em. Which is why Davy looked like he wanted to kill ’im when you two got back in. He’s still awful sore about what happened to you last night.”

Micky smiled gently. “That’s our Davy.”

“Hey … Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“When … when you grabbed Josiah out there earlier … you looked like you wanted to hit him again. Your face made this … I ain’t ever seen your face that way before. What … what did he tell you that made you so mad?”

Micky bit his lip and was quiet for a moment. He looked down at his hands. “Josiah told me … what some guy Randy said they ought to do to you after they beat you …”

Mike blanched, and looked down also. “… oh.”

Then Micky looked up at Mike with tears in his eyes. “I know nothing happened, Mike, but the fact that it could have … that could have happened to you … it made me so mad. I really wanted to hit him again. And keep hitting him. Even if it meant I couldn’t pick up a drumstick for a month.”

“It weren’t his idea,” Mike said softly. “I don’t remember much by that point … it’s kind of hazy. But I think he was the one who convinced them not to do it.”

“That’s what he said. Bully for him,” Micky said bitterly. “I know we’re trying to give Josiah a second chance … but I really hate this Joe guy you knew in Dallas.”

“I think Joe hated himself back in Dallas,” Mike said softly. “I know I didn’t like myself much at all, either. I feel better here. Especially now I got you.”

“You got me, Mike. I wanna be yours.”

“You’re mine …” Mike said with a soft smile, testing out the words in his mouth. “Yeah … I like the way that sounds.”

“And you’re mine, too. All mine. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Mike leaned in to kiss Micky and Micky kissed him back, making a soft, hungry sound.

“I’m gonna take your clothes off, Mike,” he whispered before licking into Mike’s mouth.

Mike moaned softly, parting his lips and tasting Micky. “And what about your clothes?” he asked breathlessly between kisses.

Micky unbuttoned Mike’s shirt. “I’m gonna take those off, too.”

Mike moaned more as Micky licked and sucked at his nipples. “And then what, Micky … what are you gonna do then?”

“I’m gonna put my fingers inside you and your cock in my mouth.”

“Oh god,” Mike groaned, shrugging out of his shirt as Micky opened his pants and yanked down the zipper. “And then what?”

“I’m going to put my cock in your ass and my tongue back in your mouth and I’m gonna make love to you until you come. Is that okay?”

Mike nodded, panting, reaching to help Micky strip down. Micky laid himself down on top of Mike and reached for his cock, thrilled to find Mike already so hard and slick.

“Oh, you are just about my favorite thing right now,” Micky gasped, using Mike’s precome to slick up his fingers and tease his hole.

“Just about?” Mike groaned.

“Correction. My favorite thing. My favorite person. My favorite anything. My favorite everything.”

Mike felt like his heart might burst. He’d never felt this much … anything before, let alone happiness. He wrapped his arms around Micky and kissed his face and neck as Micky slid his fingers inside Mike and he shivered with pleasure.

And then they heard Davy. “MICKY! WHY THE HELL IS THERE WATER ALL OVER THE BEDROOM FLOOR?”

Micky made a sheepish face, laughing. “Oh no … the ice cubes!”

Mike chuckled and groaned at the same time as Micky hit his sweet spot so deep. “Dang … I had that dishtowel filled up real good, too. What a mess.”

“And I gotta wash Davy’s sheets later, too.”

“And maybe these ones. And mine.”

“All this laundry. April’s gonna think we’re in love with her again.”

Mike wrapped his arms around Micky and kissed him. “Well, she’d be right about half of it.”

“Later,” Micky murmured against Mike’s lips. “Later. All of it. This is all I want right now. I just want you. I love you.”

“Later,” Mike agreed, moaning as Micky slowly and teasingly fucked him with his fingers. “I love you. I love you so much.”

And Micky made love to Mike on Sunday morning, four feet away from where everything had changed back in the summer … it was a Tuesday and it was all because Micky wanted ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking through to the end of this series! This was meant to be a PWP with the old "character X walks in on character Y jerking off and they Get Ideas" trope, but it ballooned into something else. I was originally going to kill off Josiah off-screen in Vietnam and Mike never saw him again. The conflict was going to come from Micky feeling confused about his feelings for Mike. But then I thought, what if I flipped it around and Mike is the source of the conflict and Micky is all in? So, that was fun ... for me. Less so for the boys.


End file.
